Just Fall
by freakylemurcat
Summary: Jack and Ennis are living in Bylow, a rather pointless town in Arizona. Complete with a supporting cast of Bostonians, ex-wives, editors, bad drivers, children and one recalcitrant pickup truck. AU
1. Chapter 1

A battered black pick-up rattled into the car park over the road from the _Bylow Reporter_ offices, trailing smoke in ominous clouds. The engine died before the driver could turn it off, earning the vehicle a severe cussing. Rust prevented the man from opening the door in the dramatic way he clearly wanted to do, and then swung the metal half-way shut on his ankle as he jumped out. More swearing followed as a dark-haired young man, casually dressed in jeans, black shirt and an old jacket, picked himself off the ground and wiped dust off his clothes. He tugged a bag out of the truck through an open window. The car door slammed shut. Angry muttering followed footsteps across the road, into the newspaper building, boots scuffing the ground.

The receptionist looked up for only a few seconds, and then smiled. "Morning, Jack! Car troubles again?"

"Yeah. Damn thing's really fucked up now." Jack leant against her desk and gave her one of his best smiles. "Any mail for me, doll?"

"If there was it's been sent up to your desk by now."

Jack rolled his eyes and glanced at the clock. It was well past ten, and he should have been here at nine. Oops…

"Better run. See ya!" He swiftly ran up the spiral staircase, darted in between various boxes in the corridor and skidded to a halt in the reporters' office, trying to act as nonchalant as possible.

He sauntered across the huge room, pausing to talk to several people who were already hard at work at their own tables. On reflection it shouldn't take ten minutes to cross a 15 metre wide room, but Jack was a sociable soul and he needed to catch up on the morning's gossip.

Jack's own desk was shoved tight to the wall, right beside a window. Half of it was covered it scraps of paper and other assorted bits of rubbish. The messy half of the table was his; the other half was the territory of Bylow's most notorious playboy, Christian Lachlan. Until Jack could find a man prepared for a serious relationship, the smooth talking Bostonian was filling the role of his best friend.

Christian was already in his chair, gnawing at his thumb as he read something on his laptop. Jack threw his bag and coat down onto his chair and tossed his car keys to the desk, attempting to create as much noise as possible. A few frown lines appeared on Christian's forehead.

"Fuckin' car nearly stopped on the damn freeway! Taken it to the mechanic's so many fuckin' times I could quote the damn magazines in the waitin' room!" He narrowed his eyes as Christian continued to pointedly ignore him.

The coat was evicted to the vague vicinity of a peg and the bag slammed on top of the car keys. Across the table a battered mug, bearing the legend "The World's Greatest Dad", jumped and clattered to the ground.

Jack ignored the pained sigh from his friend and rummaged through his bag, pulling out his note books and a sheaf of pages he had printed off his home computer the night before. A pencil was located from under what Jack supposed was either a biodegradable pencil case or, more likely, the remains of a sandwich from last week.

"Well, that's lovely." Christian finally broke his silence, getting up to retrieve his mug. "How long has that been there?"

"Dunno." The needed notebook was found and opened at a clean sheet. Jack shuffled through the printed pages and spread them out on the table, chewing his pencil thoughtfully. "Cheese sandwich by the taste of it. When was the last time you cleaned?"

"Yesterday, but I only managed to remove the top thirty centimetres of junk before it went six. There's a reason the cleaning lady doesn't come near this table you know."

"She knows her boundaries, obviously."

"Hah!" The sprawled coat was placed on the peg it had previously missed by a metre. The possible cheese sandwich was scooped up with a piece of card and dumped in the bin. "Ick. That's disgusting."

"You could have left it, Christian!" Jack glared at the man as he sat down again.

"And wait for it to grow legs so it can throw itself into the trash?" A stapler was brandished with excessive force on an unsuspecting mouse pad – Christian's odd little habit that was aired whenever he got irritated.

The two men glared at each other, but there was no ill feeling there at all. They had bickered like that since they had first met, and now it was practically traditional. It seemed rather fitting, therefore, that they had first spoke to one another in a Texas law firm's waiting room. Jack had been waiting for a meeting about his pre-nup agreement with Lureen – something her father had insisted on to prevent the screw-up who dared to wed his daughter from getting too much money when the marriage finally hit the rocks. Christian had been visiting his lawyer about his pre-nup agreement – the only thing keeping him from losing huge amounts of money to a disgruntled soon-to-be ex-wife. Five months later, Jack was moving to Arizona, unemployed and broke, and completely dependant on his friend's guarantee of a job in a town newspaper. Sometimes Jack did wonder how he got from being a rodeo cowboy to a columnist, but more often than not passed it off as sheer good luck and left it at that.

"Aguirre still wants you to help Malone with the new season coming up. I told him you wouldn't, but…" Christian indicated that their editor was a complete and utter ass with a single shrug. "I'm afraid you might be stuck with it."

"Fuck."

"Well, if you came in earlier then maybe you could refuse him to his face. That might work."

"It isn't my fault my fuckin' car's a piece of shit, is it?"

"No, but it might be your mechanic's. How many times have you gone to that place?"

"For this problem? About ten."

The other man actually twitched. Christian had a thing for his cars, and often despaired of Jack, whose knowledge of vehicular mechanics extended as about as far as 'The engine makes the wheels turn.'

"Ten times? And he hasn't fixed it? Get yourself a new mechanic, kid. Yours obviously doesn't know how to do his job properly." A glint appeared in one dark eye. "Or maybe he's not doing his job right so you'll come back."

"What?" Jack set down his cheesy pencil and leant forward.

"Maybe you ain't as unappreciated by Bylow's gay community as you think."

"Now, that's just wrong!" The columnist pushed himself away from the table, chair wheels squeaking. He pictured his mechanic – a large fat man by the name of Edward, who clearly didn't know what either soap or deodorant was. Now there was something make his nightmares a little bit more varied.

A card with a name, address and telephone number scribbled on it landed on his notebook.

"Try him. He fixed my Merc last month."

"What makes you think I can afford to go to your mechanic?"

"'Cause I'm paying." One hand went up to stay Jack's protests. "Just let me explain. This is now your birthday present. Ok? It's not charity."

"My birthday isn't for six months," muttered Jack.

"Christmas present, Easter egg, whatever. " Christian looked back at his laptop and scowled. His new column was clearly giving him difficulties.

The _Bylow Reporter_ was the town paper of a population straining to be called a city, and therefore liked to pretend it could afford seven columnists, but none of them had much to talk about. Christian's way past this problem was to relate stories of his own childhood in Boston. He had the advantage that he was from an extremely wealthy family, and this meant he was rarely actually in Boston at all – spending most summers in Italy and winters at a ski resort in the Swiss Alps. Jack's childhood mainly seemed to consist of cattle, sheep, horses and being beaten by his father. Nothing 

the cowboy really wanted to talk about. So he just picked something mildly interesting that had happened in the news and gave Bylow his opinion on it. It looked like it worked rather well; he nearly had as big a following as the Bostonian did.

His other five co-workers had done basically the same thing, doing things on science, literature, art, sport and what had happened in Bylow that week. All in all in resulted in three pages of almost complete nonsense every Sunday, but apparently it was popular. The _Reporter_ seriously kicked ass in the Bylow paper races, even if the only competition was really from the _Advertiser_, who liked to focus on the scandals of the town's big names, and whose editor spent most of his time in court on libel charges.

Jack attempted to banish all the pointless thoughts from his head and tried to focus. Half an hour later he was still trying and becoming very aware of how easily sidetracked he was.

"Damn." He dropped his pencil and stretched, wincing as vertebrae popped into a more suitable position.

"No luck?" Christian had been industriously clicking about his laptop, making Jack feel a bit more useless than he normally did.

"Nope. You?"

"Haven't written a new word since last night."

"What're you clickin' then?"

"I'm playing Solitaire."

Jack rolled his eyes. Figured. He sighed, found his pencil and set about covering the notebook pages in untidy scribbles. Maybe by the end of the day he'd come up with something useful.

* * *

On the other side of Bylow, Ennis Del Mar was bleeding the air from the engine of Mrs. Bowyer's diesel BMW for the second time that month. The old woman herself was twittering away about something pointless on the other side of the garage.

Ennis straightened up and sighed. If only the stupid biddy would remember her car did not run on petrol he would… well, be slightly poorer for a start. Mrs. Bowyer was about 40 of his custom, and probably the cause of 20 more of it, considering her rather erratic driving style. Those lines down the middle of the road were only a suggestion as far as she was concerned.

"There you go, ma'am. Good as new."

Five minutes later Ennis was alone again, watching as Mrs. Bowyer drove off, narrowly missing a school bus. He groaned in despair, and wandered to his little office.

Normally he would have had an apprentice or two in here, or maybe a few kids who just needed some cash, but no one appeared to need a job right now and his one apprentice was off on a family trip to Disneyland. And his colleague, Stoutamire, who used Ennis's business as an easy way of running a bike repair shop, was taking the day off to celebrate becoming a father for the second time. So Ennis was alone.

He didn't mind being by himself for a while, it gave him time to think, but these days he was beginning to feel a bit removed from everything. It was the divorce that had done it - an unpleasant four months of arguing and court dates which resulted in a 50-50 split of their accumulated possessions and an order that father and daughters would be reunited at least every other weekend.

So he lived out his rather isolated life in what was basically a trailer concreted to the ground in the eastern suburbs, spent his evenings either in Craft's Bar or at home watching TV and his weekends without his daughters carefully mowing his lawn, trying to find something to fix in his house or washing his car. Ennis was really having trouble trying to figure out how his life could get worse.

There was a paper lying on his desk, the Sunday Edition of the _Bylow Reporter_. He never read through the whole damn thing on the day it was published and always left a bit he could turn to in times of severe boredom. Recently he'd taken to leaving out the Columns section, mainly because it was the most interesting bit.

It was a sign of how much the _Reporter_ was into looking like a proper big important newspaper that could spare sheets for pointless things that the Columns section was fronted by a huge full page photo of their seven columnists all managing to look like they enjoyed each other's company. Ennis was beginning to love that photo, just because of that one man whose gaze, albeit unseeing, made Ennis's stomach do strange acrobatics. He'd spent many a half hour sitting in silence, wondering what he'd do if he ever met him.

So this was how his life could get worse... Not only was he falling for an unattainable target, the target was a guy. Great...

Not that that stopped him from regularly drooling over... What was his name again? A fumble through a couple pages. Ah, yes, Jack Twist.


	2. Chapter 2

Dusk was swiftly falling over Bylow. The roads were becoming clogged with the mass of people attempting to escape to the suburbs. Many of the Reporter's employees were joining the crush.

However Jack and Christian were still providing the cleaners with two extra obstacles. Jack was still struggling to create a first sentence, while Christian, by the sound of the keys clacking on his laptop, was either really inspired or playing pinball. Neither of them clearly felt like moving.

The receptionist found them at their desks, feet up on the table in one case and elegantly crossed in the other.

"Last call, boys. I need to lock up soon."

"Sure thing, Morgan." Jack sprang to his feet and began to stuff his books and sheets back into his bag, winking at Morgan when Christian sighed at his friend's untidiness. The receptionist almost giggled as she walked away.

"And they call me a playboy." Christian stirred himself a bit more leisurely, switching the laptop off and stowing it in its case slowly and carefully.

"That's cause you are. I'd be one too, if (a) I was straight or (b) if there were more gay men in this town. _Handsome_ gay men." He shrugged his coat on and scrabbled through the mess on his desk for his keys, in the process knocking several pages to the floor.

The other man sighed and bent to pick them up. Most were scrumpled and thrown in the bin, but one scrap was retained for closer inspection. "Could you be any more shallow?"

"Could you be any more any more of a clean freak? Jesus! I might need those!" He rescued the sheets and directed a particularly annoyed frown at his friend.

"Something dated from June 1998? I think not." Christian flicked the card to Jack, who caught it clumsily in one hand. "Don't lose that, or you'll be walking home."

Jack stowed the scrap in the back pocket of his jeans, threw the unwanted pages back on his desk and ambled out.

It was chilly outside, with a sharp breeze that made the cowboy's teeth chatter. Christian, even though he was devoid of a coat or jacket, still managed to look cheerily unruffled by the temperature and earned himself a kick on the shin.

"Ow!"

His apology was in the form of a fleeting smile and a dash across the road - Jack was desperate to find warmth, or at least shelter, in the form of his pick-up. He wasn't really expecting it to start, since getting it to move that morning had involved three hours of cursing, kicking and an impromptu visit to the nearby church for a quick prayer to the gods of old pick-up trucks. It had worked, in a way - 

the reverend's wife had a degree in mechanics, had done some incomprehensible things with a spanner and the truck coughed its way to life.

But now there was no handy mother of two to fix the damn thing. And Christian was already starting his Mercedes, revving the engine and driving away, horn blaring a farewell. Lucky bastard.

Jack took a breath, reached forward and turned the key. There was a promising rumble which died to an unhealthy rattle that made the man slump back in the seat and swear. Three attempts later and the pick-up couldn't even muster the energy for a sickly moan of battered engine parts.

This was not going to work.

A lot of shifting in his seat and accidently batting his head against the steering wheel later, Jack was holding the mechanic's number. He unearthed his mobile and dialled. While it rang he sent up another plea to the gods of trucks - 'either let the man know his job or let him be cute enough that I can ogle him while he spends ages trying to fix this thing'.

"Hello, Del Mar Auto Repair?"

* * *

Ennis had been watching the day fade away without much enthusiasm. His only customer aside from the dreaded Mrs. Bowyer had been a poor soul that the old biddy had accidentally forced off the road, and that had been a simple case of changing a tyre. Around midday Christian Lachlan had called to tell him one of his friends would be requiring assistance, which Christian would pay for, around six-ish, and could he stay open for a bit longer today? And he had read the Columns section of the Reporter, scanning over Jack Twist's contribution to the literary arts several times.

The phone rang. He almost ran to it, desperate to talk to someone.

"Hello, Del Mar Auto Repair?"

"Yeah." Even though he needed human contact, he was useless at phone conversations. "Ennis Del Mar here. Er... You need help?"

"Ha! Yeah! Damn pick-up's royally screwed, and I'd kinda like to get home. You couldn't...?"

"Erm, yeah sure. Where are ya?" Scrambling for a piece of paper to note the address even though he wouldn't need it.

"I'm parked off Bryson Street. You know the one?"

"It's comes off Guard Street, right? The one opposite the Town Hall?"

"Yeah."  


"Right. I'll be there in fifteen minutes." The phone was slammed down and Ennis hurried off.

* * *

Dial tone. Jack glared at the phone in mild irritation.

"Goodbye to you too, Ennis Del Mar."

And now to waiting, which was not Jack Twist's favourite game.

* * *

Ennis wasn't sure why he was driving so fast to get to this guy. He had no real need to get home, since all that waited for him was a phone call to Domino's and a night of watching pointless made-for-TV movies.

Guard Street was a long stretch of road, with the big important buildings on one side and smaller uptown businesses on the other. Ennis vaguely knew the _Bylow_ _Reporter_ offices were around here somewhere.

In fact, there it was, just opposite Town Hall. Ennis's tow truck made the turn ponderously, nearly scraping the kerb as its owner got lost in a little day dream. What would he do if it had been Jack Twist that had called? Lose the power of speech, probably, and turning a very bright shade of red was a certainty. His empty schedule gave him enough time not only to drool over the columnist but also to create several rather personal fantasies. He was blushing even now just thinking about them.

_Jack only inches away, those blue eyes sparkling as Ennis leant in to kiss him, savouring the moment when their lips touched... Jack underneath him on their bed, panting and groaning, straining upwards for as much contact as he could get... Ennis's lips grazing the stubble on Jack's cheek as they gave themselves a few moments just to enjoy being with each other.  
_  
The truck slid to a stop, Ennis having noticed the battered black pick-up sitting all by itself in the carpark. He paused before getting out, telling himself not to be so silly, that there was no chance in hell it was going to be Jack. Grabbing his toolbox he trudged over to the car and rapped on the window.

Jack had been half-asleep, curled up as tight as he could in the front seat, shivering. The knock on his window made him spring straight up. He peered out into the poorly lit carpark. The mechanic had already moved to poke at the front of the pick-up.

The columnist couldn't help the whimper that escaped his throat when he leapt out of the cab. It was absolutely freezing. The mechanic - what was his name? Ennis Del Mar? Something like that - 

looked up in amusement. Jack nearly whimpered again. A strange look of panic crossed Ennis's face, and he practically dived back into the engine.

"Thanks for comin' out. I was worried you would be closin' up, or somethin'." Jack was, of course, the first to find his voice.

"Nah, I was stayin' open 'til seven." Ennis didn't look up.

Jack frowned and leant back against the pick-up's flank. He glanced across at the other man, and bit his lip. It shouldn't have been possible to fall in love so quickly, but Jack had just managed it. And of course, he'd just fallen for a man who probably had a wife, whatever number of kids was now the national average, a dog, a mistress and a favourite girl down at the local whorehouse.

Deep in the oily recesses of the pick-up Ennis was staring blankly at the inside of the hood. There was absolutely no way that the man this piece of automotive crap belonged to was Jack Twist. It couldn't be happening. It _couldn't _be. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself and began to figure out what was wrong with the truck. He had a job to do after all.

Both men were silent for ten minutes, busy convincing themselves that the other had no interest in them at all. Finally Ennis straightened up and wiped his hands on his jeans.

"Well, I think that ought'a do it. Can't promise nothin' though. This thing's well past its use by date." He purposely met Jack's gaze, just to prove to himself he was ok with being near this man, and dropped the toolbox he had been holding when the columnist gave him a grateful smile. As Jack reached into the truck to turn the key, Ennis was crawling about the ground, picking up the bits and pieces necessary for him to practise his trade, cursing and muttering quietly about how some people's eyes were just too damn purdy for anyone's good. Up in the cab Jack developed a smile that would have lit up a dark room.

The truck rumbled, rattled and then came to life. Jack whooped and punched the air in triumph. "Damn! That's some nice work there!"

The mechanic smiled slightly as he stood up, not being able to help feeling a bit smug at the praise - and at the fact he was currently the lucky recipient of one of the most charmingly adorable grins that Jack could muster.

A previous phone call battled its way through the Jack fantasies in Ennis's brain. Christian Lachlan and his friend that would need help around six-ish. He looked at his watch - twenty five past six.

"D'you know Christian Lachlan?"

"Yeah. You fixed that bloody big swanky car of his last month didn't you? He mentioned it this mornin' when he gave me your number." Jack's smile appeared to be permanent, and was developing a rather cheeky knowing tinge. Ennis blushed.

"His Merc. Yeah." The mechanic cleared his throat, shifted awkwardly, toolbox protecting his dignity as the grin began to do strange things to his body. "He's payin' then?"

"Yeah. He insisted."

"Well, there ya go then." Ennis stuck out a hand. Jack took it. For a moment both men were perfectly still.

Ennis pulled his hand away. "Yeah, well, see ya."

Jack nodded, drawing his hand back slowly to scrub at his hair. "Yeah. Thanks." He shuffled back into his pick-up, slammed the door, changed through the gears and drove out of the carpark.

Ennis watched him drive off, trying to ignore the sickly feeling developing in his stomach. Why was he letting that man drive off? He had seen that smile, Jack had known... But... Even though Ennis was prepared to admit that maybe he was very attracted to the man, he wasn't ready for anything to happen, no matter what paths his daydreaming took him down. There was a part of him that was still attached to the idea that he was as straight as the next man. And he'd probably never have such a good chance again...

He fell to his knees, still where he had stood when he had touched Jack's hand, and pressed his head to the ground, shivering from cold, pain, fear and confusion. He didn't need this to be happening, didn't need these feelings, didn't want to be pining after a man, but here he was. He didn't know how to deal with it properly, so he dealt with it the Del Mar way.

He got up, brushed himself down, wiped his face with the back of his hands and got into his tow truck and drove away from the spot where he had just met, and lost, the love of his life.


	3. Chapter 3

Roused from his sleep by the persistant buzzing of the doorbell, Christian was not feeling particularly friendly or hospitable to whatever person was standing on his doorstep. But when they kept on pressing the damn thing, the Bostonian reluctantly fell out of bed and stumbled downstairs, snagging a dressing gown on his way, making a note to smash the doorbell in the first chance he got. He unlocked the door and wrenched it open, ready to curse the hell out of the person standing there.

It was a teary eyed, shivering Jack.

"What?" Christian's temperament was not improved by the freezing cold wind, but the sight of his friend being so miserable removed the urge to swear.

"Can I come in? Please? I just need to talk to someone."

Sighing, Christian stepped back to let his friend in and slammed the door behind him. Jack, sniffing the entire way, padded through a maze of corridors to the living room, one of the few rooms in the massive house to be used on a regular basis. Christian followed him and sat down heavily on a well-used leather sofa, glaring at the other man.

"Care to offer an explanation as to why you turned up on my doorstep at three in the morning?"

"I told you - I need to talk to someone," answered Jack, who sank into a fluffy armchair.

"About what?"

"How my life could not possibly be any worse."

"You could have just been woken up in the middle of the night by your best friend, and not be able to kick him out because he looks like he's ready to sob at any moment," sighed Christian, "What's happened now?" He paused, as though a nasty thought had just occurred. "It's nothing to do with your kid, is it?"

Jack shook his head quickly. "No, nothin' to do with Bobby." He leant forward, almost conspiratorially. "You ever fallen in love? Like proper love? At first sight? With a person." He added, knowing his friend's rather worrying attachment to his car collection.

The man appeared to think for a few moments. "I'm guessing not the sort of love caused by too much alcohol? Christ, Jack, I don't know. Probably. I have been married three times after all."

"Did you really love them, though? Like nothing mattered but them?"

"I thought about Maria like that for a while," said Christian in a faraway voice, "The first five years, they were bliss. But then..." He shrugged, coming back to earth again, a hard expression forming on his face. "We all know how that ended. Why do you ask?"

"I've just fallen for your mechanic, Christian, and I can't get him outta my head! I can't stand this! He was just so perfect, I couldn't help it. I could've sworn he liked me, thought I might have a chance, y'know? And then he's just... It was like he suddenly just didn't want to know me! And _I can't deal with this!_" Jack buried his head in his hands, trembling with emotion. "What can I do?!"

"Fuck, I don't know. Any chance of you accepting it?" A strangled sob answered that question. "Ok, then, obviously not. I... Sheesh..." Christian's brain was being a bit overtaxed by such questions at an hour it would prefer to be sleeping. "I'm sorry, Jack, I can't think of anything. There's nothing you can do, is there?"

"No..." Jack raised his head, wiping tears away. "Jesus, look at me. Cryin' like a girl. No way for a man to act, huh?" His attempt at a laugh was feeble.

"Cried plenty over my years," muttered Christian quietly, "Mostly when I was a kid, admittedly. Does you good to work emotions out like that, apparently." He shrugged. "Anything else you need?"

"A spare room? I don't fancy drivin' home this late. By the time I get there it'll be nearly time to leave."

Christian dragged himself to his feet and crossed to his friend. "Don't bother yourself too much about it. You'll find someone even better than him. It's just a passing thing." His offer of a hand up was gratefully received. "You can have your normal room. Need a wakeup call?"

"Thanks, Chris. I appreciate it."

"Hmm, no worries."

* * *

The next morning Jack set out early, wanting to fetch something from his home. The problem was the pick-up was dying again, and the roads from Christian's house to Jack's bungalow on the other side of town were mostly in disrepair. A few potholes later and the ominous black smoke had reappeared, along with an alarming whirring noise.

"Shit..." Jack didn't even have the energy to spare on putting proper vehemence into his curses. He hadn't slept at all last night, choosing to stare blankly at the ceiling, begging the gods to either let him have Ennis or let him get over the fact that he couldn't.

Another pothole. The whirring turned to buzzing. Another. Buzzing turned into a high-pitched whine that set Jack's teeth on edge. He tried to swerve to avoid the next hole, but clipped it anyway. The whine became a shriek very briefly. The engine died with the clatter of broken metal.

"Well, fuck this." Jack now had three options: wait out here for someone to come and help, try and fix it himself or call Ennis for help. The first was not a good option; few people used this road, preferring to drive through Bylow. The second was even worse because the last time Jack had tried 

to fix the engine it had resulted in a trip to the hospital with a screw stuck in the ball of his thumb - he had never quite figured out how it got there. Option three, then...

Reluctantly he found his mobile and dialled the number.

"Hello?" Jack started slightly - the person that had answered was certainly not Ennis, but a teenaged boy, with a squeaky voice.

"Er... Yeah... I think I need a tow or somethin'. My truck's broke down on..." Christ, this road was so unused it didn't even have a name! "Well, you know that bloody great house on the west of town?" The boy indicated that he did - Christian's home was a major talking point in Bylow even though it was nearly three years old now. "Well, there's a real old track that splits off from the road to that house, goin' south. I'm a couple miles down it."

"I'll try and find it as soon as possible, sir." The boy hung up.

The columnist glanced at his watch and sighed. He probably wouldn't make it into work today at all, which was a pity because he desperately needed to talk to Aguirre about how much he did not want to work with Randall Malone. It wasn't that the man had actually ever done anything to him, it was more Jack could simply not stand the man at all. Few people could, mostly because Randall was constantly playing the field, apparently so desperate he'd approach happily married women and straight men - ending up with the same outcome in both cases, a swift and well-deserved trip to the doctor's surgery.

He kicked the driver's seat to its lowest position and attempted to catch up on all the sleep he'd missed the night before.

* * *

Ennis wasn't feeling to great that morning either. Either Domino's desperately needed a visit from the health inspector, or the memory of just how close he came to Jack Twist last night was still weighing heavy on him. Personally suspecting the latter, but pretending even in the depths of his mind that it was the former, he had just about managed to slog his way to work and slump in his office. He had ordered his apprentice, freshly returned from Disneyland, to take care of all the customers he could, but not to hesitate to call Ennis if something was beyond him. The kid had taken the hint and left his employer alone for most of the morning.

Now the mechanic was mildly worried. The garage had been absolutely silent for the past hour and a half. The apprentice was nowhere to be seen, and neither was the tow truck. That wasn't much of a problem - the boy was allowed to go out with the truck to customers. But the fact remained that nowhere in Bylow was anywhere near an hour and a half away, including the return journey. The only place was that damn mansion to the west, but the owner of that place would insist on talking to Ennis about any of his cars.

Oh well. Ennis shrugged inwardly and let it go. He didn't particularly mind what his apprentice did as 

long as it didn't harm his business.

Another half hour later he heard the familiar grumble of the tow truck hauling its burden into the garage. He peered out the office window and swore. It was Jack Twist and that lump of assorted metals masquerading as a pick-up. This was going to be awkward.

The pick-up was lowered back to the ground and the apprentice hurried across to the office. Ennis opened the door before he got there and dragged him in.

"There's no way in hell I can fix that." The kid was adamant. Eventually his boss gave up and told the boy to go home for the day. Suffering from jet-lag or whatever, needed to get his sleep. Ennis just wanted him out.

Jack was still lurking on the other side of the tow truck, biting his lip bloody. He _really_ wanted, should that read needed?, to run around the truck and just throw himself on Ennis. He was going to need some serious self-control - something he had never possessed in large enough amounts to be worth-while.

The kid that had rescued him from the side of the road ambled out of the garage. Jack watched him uninterestedly, while his mind screamed of the mechanic on the other side of the truck.

"Jack?" Of the mechanic who was no longer on the other side of the truck, but had apparently walked around it absolutely silently. The columnist only just avoided yelping in shock. "What happened?"

"It broke down?" He felt a bit embarrassed at his lack of engineering knowledge. "I think somethin's fallen to pieces. It was makin' a hell of a noise."

Ennis nodded and opened the pick-up's hood. He made a face and poked at something. Jack padded closer, and peered over his shoulder at the mess.

"Shit. It don't look too healthy."

"That's cause it ain't." Get away, get away! Too close! Ennis crossed to his tool bench and picked up a spanner. Bracing himself, he bent down into the pick-up's innards, tensing as Jack stepped closer, apparently to watch the other man at work. It was a good thing, he thought to himself as the columnist's leg touched his own, that he had a battered old sofa in his office, because in about three seconds he was going to grab Jack and fuck him until neither of them could see.

"Er.. I don't really understand this mechanics business, but don'tcha have to actually do somethin' to fix it?"

"Shit!" Ennis had been leaning over the truck for nearly a minute, thinking about the sofa. He started, and the spanner flew out of his hand, to clatter against a wall. Mortified at his own clumsiness, he slapped a hand over his eyes and tried not to think about the amused look that Jack would undoubtedly have on his face.

"You want your spanner back, or am I gonna be holdin' it until you fix my car?"

Ennis removed his hand. Jack was holding the wrench out, and there, sure enough was that amused look. The mechanic suddenly really wished he had something to hide behind - at least at waist level. He reached out, ignoring the way his hand shook.

There wasn't metal under his fingers - for some odd reason he'd closed his hand over Jack's. Both men looked up. The spanner fell unheeded to the floor.

It wasn't a kiss, because there were too many noses in the way, but it was close. Ennis locked his hands behind Jack's neck; Jack slipped his hands between Ennis's arms, holding the mechanic's face as close as he could. It was silent apart from their heavy gasps.

"Sofa?" It was a miracle Ennis managed to growl that one word out. It was equally miraculous that Jack managed to nod in response. The fact that they actually got to the sofa without moving any further apart than they had been standing was a marvel worthy of sainthood.

Now Ennis was able to inspect Jack's face as close as he wanted; fingers rubbing stubble, tracing unseen lines from cheekbone to jawline, all the while firmly attached at the mouths, each desperately fighting to be closer to the other. This was close, but not close enough. Ennis drew back for a second and then flipped Jack over. Belts were dragged open, buttons popped. Two pairs of jeans were pulled to their owners' ankles.

Ennis paused again.

"For the love of God!!"

But not for long. The push in was met with two moans. Jack shuddered, driving his nails into the sofa cushion in pain, but let out no complaint. Above him, Ennis was fighting to hold on already, gasping and panting, with one hand gripping the back of the chair, the other clutching a handful of Jack's shirt.

"En... Please... Come on..."

The mechanic needed no more encouragement. Within a few seconds he had a rhythm going, while Jack matched each thrust with a whimpering cry and a push back of his own.

"Please... Yes..! Yes..! Yes.! Yes.! God!! Yes.. _yesyesyesyesyesyesyes_. Oh, fuck, _**yes**_!!" His fingernails ripped through the cushion fabric, his body shaking and shuddering, clenching tight around Ennis.

"Oh, god! Jack!!" Ennis drove in just once more and nearly wailed as the pleasure ripped through his body. The feeling spread through every inch of him and faded to a warming background hum.

Jack whined when his lover pulled out and away, standing up. There was the sound of denim dragging against skin. He slumped down on the sofa, and collected enough workable brain cells to pull his jeans up. Ennis sat down again, reached out an arm and wrapped it about Jack's waist to pull him closer. Lips met gently, gazes locked and two happy smiles formed at the same time.

Curling his body around Jack as he snuggled closer, Ennis allowed himself to slip into a doze. In his arms, the dark-haired man grinned to himself now that there was no properly concious recipient. This could be good.


	4. Chapter 4

Jack woke alone and cold. Now, he knew how you were meant to wake after sleeping alongside the man who was meant to be your soulmate. You were meant to be snuggled tight to them, warm and cosy. But here he was freezing his ass off on a battered old sofa in a messy office. Alone.

Now that was the part that worried him. He was not going to be used and dumped again. It was not happening.

He groaned and dragged himself to his feet. Wincing as parts of his body protested at their treatment a few hours beforehand, he crept out into the garage. Someone had turned the radio on high, and there was the scraping noise of a drill. The pickup was parked in a different spot than before - had Ennis got it working? If he had, that begged the question, just how long had Jack been sleeping on his own? Jack could just tell where this was heading. Was his prediction of the good life premature?

Ennis was inspecting a complicated piece of metal when Jack found him. The mechanic had been lurking at the back of the garage, drilling and sanding away at an engine component. The radio was almost deafening this close to; the columnist battled with the greasy dials for a few moments to turn it off, so he could hear himself think.

"Ennis?" He reached out to touch the man's shoulder.

The mechanic stiffened. "Your truck's as fixed as far as I can manage. I still think you'd be better off with a new one." He twiddled the component anxiously. "I'm supposin' Christian's still payin'?"

Jack's mouth fell open. His hand dropped back to his side "What?"

"You'd probably like to get movin' as soon as possible." He set the metal down, a slow uncomfortable blush spreading across his cheeks.

"What?!" Jack's normally extensive vocabulary had been reduced to one word. "_What_?! "

"Look, I can't do this, Jack! I just can't!"

"You bloody well just fuckin' did!! Remember three hours ago on the sofa?!" Jack slammed a fist down hard on the metal table, making the tools and parts jump.

"Jack, no! This was a one shot thing!" Ennis span and grabbed Jack's wrists to prevent the man attempting any punches. "I can't have anyone thinkin' I'm queer, cause I ain't!"

"A one shot thing?" Anger made Jack's voice icy cold. "That's what this was? That's what I spent all-" He stopped, and clenched his jaw, obviously fighting against the urge to say something. "You think back over what happened, and then you say it was just nothin'?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry. But that's just it." Ennis let go of Jack's wrists and stepped back. There was a blur of 

movement and a sickening crack. The mechanic found himself on the floor, staring up at the dark haired man through eyes that were vibrating from the force of the punch.

"You, Ennis Del Mar, are one hell of a goddamn insecure motherfuckin' whoreson of a bitch." Jack stalked to his truck and hauled the door open. Something inside came loose and skidded across the floor. Neither man noticed. He got into the cab and then leant back out. "Where the hell do you get off, actin' like I'm some sort of fuckin' whore?"

Ennis pulled himself up onto his knees. "Just get the fuck out of my garage!"

Jack slammed the door shut. Groaning and shuddering, the truck came to life and lurched into reverse. The turn it was forced to perform elicited some alarming creaks but it was swiftly disappearing down the road.

Ennis didn't move. He didn't feel like he was in charge of his own body anymore. It had broken his heart to do that, but it had to be done all the same. He could not risk the problems that outing himself would cause. Never mind his garage and his job - what about his kids? Alma would undoubtedly never let him anywhere near Junior and Franny if she found out her ex-husband was shacking up with another guy. And he needed to see his daughters.

Part of him needed to see Jack as well.

Most of him, in fact.

Where _did_ he get off acting like that? Now that was a good question. It would have been preferable to be able to talk it over, discuss why Ennis couldn't be with Jack. But Ennis wasn't good with words. And, anyway, neither man knew anything about the other, besides their jobs. For all Ennis knew, Jack could have been serving as the town bicycle. There could be unpleasant secrets, old boyfriends, new boyfriends, money troubles, odd friends, strange beliefs. There could be anything. And no matter how much part of him already loved the columnist, he couldn't be with him. Not while he had all these issues to deal with.

He leant back against the worktop and stared at the ceiling, searching his mind for any possible solution to his problems.

* * *

"Hey! Lachlan!"

Christian looked back over his shoulder disinterestedly. Aguirre was leaning in from the corridor, looking displeased. "Yes?"

"Where's Twist? This sports season thing's gotta be sorted now!"

The Bostonian glanced at his watch; it was quarter to five. He had last seen Jack around seven in the 

morning. "I'm not entirely sure, sir. I'll just fill in for him, shall I? Again"

"Yeah, whatever." Aguirre crossed his arms impatiently. "Just move!"

Christian padded out into the hall and crossed to the door the editor was holding open with his foot. Aguirre's office was cluttered with things not really relevant to journalism, especially not a desert town's newspaper. There was a moose head in one corner, missing an antler. Two shotguns rested against a filing cabinet and there was a small cannonball on the big ornate desk Aguirre had bought to make himself look more respectable. And Randall Malone was occupying a chair in front of the table.

He smiled smarmily at Christian. A snarl momentarily twisted the young man's features into an unpleasant grimace but he sat down beside Randall anyway, carefully shifting his seat as far away as possible.

"You know why Twist ain't here, Lachlan?" Aguirre flopped down into his chair - a great red leather affair - and pulled a cigar and a lighter from a pocket.

"I think it's possible that he's sick." Well, it was true, technically. And Aguirre wouldn't pay enough attention to the careful wording to detect the problem.

"Well, I need to hear a good reason from him why he shouldn't work the sports beat with Malone." He took a deep drag on the lit cigar. "I can't just take your word for it."

"He really doesn't do sports, sir!" Christian knew there was no point, but if he carried on like this he could at least say he'd tried.

"That's ok," said Randall, "He can just pad the stories out a bit. Give it a little Twist flair. I can handle the sports."

"It's not the only thing you'd handle if you got the chance," muttered Christian.

"Pardon?"

I said, 'That's too much for one man, Randall'," Christian invented quickly. "That's basically what you did last year, and you were absolutely swamped."

Randall's scowl indicated that, not only had he heard the mumbled statement, he'd also taken the newly created sentence to be an insult.

Aguirre snorted and glared too, but said nothing - he had never particularly liked either of the men, but preferred the Bostonian, only if he was richer.

Christian shrugged vaguely. "I'm telling you he really does not want to do it. You'll be making a mistake to put him there."  


"If he ain't in by twelve tomorrow, he is doing it. Otherwise Malone'll just have to cope. So you'd better find wherever the hell he is, and remind him of the working hours he's meant to follow." Aguirre nodded to the door. "Off you go."

Both reporters paused outside the door to exchange wary and unfriendly glances before returning to their desks. Christian didn't sit down at his, but started to gather stuff up.

"Where're you going, Chrissy?" called out a young woman at a nearby table. The man shot her a deadly look and continued packing.

"Home." He slammed the laptop case closed and stalked out of the room. Several reporters gave each other bemused looks, but said nothing. The Reporter employed a ragtag bunch of people who would never really get along, and a day rarely went past without some shouting and storming out. It was just a thing now.

Outside, Christian's Merc roared to life and screeched off. The smell of burning rubber drifted through an open window, and several people started coughing rather over-dramatically. The young woman who had yelled to the columnist leapt up and shut the window, shooting exasperated looks at her more theatrical colleagues. "What is his deal?"

* * *

Forcing his pick-up to do almost twice the speed limit through the centre of Bylow, Jack had reached his home in record time. He had only just managed to stumble out of the truck and unlock his door, a weird mix of anger and grief blurring his vision.

He wanted to punch something, but at the same time was fighting the urge to curl up on the sofa with something strongly alcoholic and whimper. Finally he settled for slouching at the kitchen table with a bottle of whiskey that he slammed back to the table top after each swig, simultaneously satisfying his need to be angry, sad and drunk at the same time.

Jack was having problems believing that everything could go from being so brilliant to being so bad in such a short amount of time. Normally he'd have to wait until the next morning to find he'd been deserted by whoever he'd taken to be his soulmate the night before. But he'd really thought this one would work... Ok, he'd thought that with all of them, but this time he'd actually believed himself. He knew that that could have been a relationship not only to last the night but that would carry on beyond every of the milestones set by all of his previous dealings.

So what had gone so fucking wrong? Through his alcohol muddled brain, the only answer that Jack could now think of was that he wasn't a terribly good judge of character, and that Ennis was only on the look-out for a nice piece of ass.

He slumped forward to rest his forehead on the table. The last thought to totter through his brain before he fell into a whisky induced slumber was this: he had met many, many men who had only 

been on the look-out for a nice piece of ass before, but there had never been a single one he'd ever dreamt of returning to, begging forgiveness for ever leaving. What the hell made Ennis Del Mar so special?


	5. Chapter 5

It was twelve. Randall was looking smug. Christian had his head in his hands, quietly swearing under his breath. And Jack was nowhere to be seen.

"I guess that's it then." Randall placed a hand on the other man's shoulder, and bent down to whisper in Christian's ear. "I can't wait for me and Jack to get properly acquainted." He straightened and walked away, laughing to himself.

A few people gave Christian worried looks as he slumped in his chair - his preferred position was bolt upright, like he was constantly at attention. The woman who had called him Chrissy the day before, ambled across and flopped down in Jack's chair so she could peer curiously at him.

"What's up, Chrissy?"

"I'm not in the mood, Helena." He gave her an icy glare. "And get out of Jack's chair."

Helena rolled her eyes, but got out of the chair anyway.

"Why the hell should I feel so responsible for Jack being stuck with that man?" said Christian suddenly. "I mean, I did everything I could - I pushed it as far as it would go. I argued and pleaded and bribed and bargained. There wasn't anything else I could do! I spent nearly five dollars last night just texting Jack, trying to tell him he needed to be in by twelve. Why do I feel so bad?"

"Five dollars?" She snorted. "What the hell kinda network are you on?"

"Helena..." So much for sympathy then.

"He didn't answer?"

"Not once. Normally you only have to wait about three seconds before he picks up."

"And you knew this and didn't think to go round to his house and check he was ok?" Helena twitched an eyebrow up.

"I was going to," he sighed, "But one of my ex-wives called to weep about how our daughter is the most irresponsible child in the world. Maria does tend to go on."

"_One_ of your ex-wives?" Helena, though she was the art columnist, and a painter at heart, still had a very journalistic habit of picking up on the facts that you didn't want to be heard. "And a _daughter_? I sense gossip."

"Congratulations. But I'm not telling you anything about them."

"Why not? You can't just tease me by suddenly announcing their existence and then refusing to tell me more." She poked him in the shoulder. "Come on. Divvy up the juicy stuff."

"My past relationships are none of your business, Helena," snapped Christian. He reached out and snagged his mobile from the table. "And neither are my children."

"_Children_?!" Helena was almost squealing with joy. "We've hit the motherlode! Ex-wives and children and Bylow's resident playboy! The _Advertiser's_ gonna have a field day. I can see the headlines now -"

The wheels on Christian's chair squealed as he pushed it away from the desk. He stood up, and grabbed his jacket - he'd already handed in his column for the week and hadn't needed his laptop. He was already mouthing the words 'Your call can not be connected' before the synthesized voice informed him of the same fact. Helena scuttled after him as he strode down the stairs to reception.

"And you're going?"

"Elsewhere."

"Where's elsewhere?"

"Any place you're not."

She stopped by the receptionist's desk, glaring at the man's back as he left. Morgan gave the artist a pitying look.

"I wouldn't get involved with that one, if I were you."

Helena snorted. "Neither would I. He's such an ass. Jeez."

* * *

Jack was rapidly discovering why people preferred to lie down when they went to sleep. Not only had he a broken heart and a hangover, he now had a massively sore neck.

There was a crash from the vague region of the sink and some complicated cursing. Oh, joy. Something else to add to his list of troubles; heart, hangover, neck, burglar.

As Jack managed to peel his forehead off the table top to see who was in his house, a glass of water was thumped down in front of him.

"Drink that, and then explain to me what the hell is going on." Ah, not burglar then. There was no mistaking that voice, even through a pounding headache.

Jack smiled weakly as Christian returned to the sink. He could see bubbles, so apparently washing was being done.

"Well?"  


A sip of the water and then a moment to allow his brain to figure out the complex workings of the tongue and voicebox. "I think I got drunk."

The answering growl indicated this was not a smart reply. Jack swiftly changed course. "I just... had problems. Of a relationship sort."

"Oh." Christian paused in some industrious scrubbing to peer at his friend. "And?"

"The usual."

"As in 'trip to the hospital' usual, or 'grief counsellor' usual?"

"The last one." The rest of the water was gulped down.

"Figures. The one time you don't need to be in an alcoholic stupor over some idiotic man, you are." A gleaming glass dish clattered onto the draining board. Jack had last seen it encased in a thick layer of, what had at one time been, macaroni cheese.

"Why?" Jack staggered to his feet, hissing in pain, and stumbled across to the kitchen cupboards in search of aspirin.

"Aguirre wanted to sort out the sport's beat thing. I did my best, but the idea was that if you didn't come in by midday, well..." Christian shrugged, still elbow deep in suds. Jack stared at him in mild horror.

"Well what?"

"You'd be working with Randall."

Jack looked over at the clock on the wall. Half one. "I'm workin' with..." His voice trailed off.

"Yes. If you'd have answered your damn phone last night we both could've spared ourselves some trauma." Another dish was rinsed and set beside the sink.

"What d'you mean 'both of us'?" Asprin forgotten, Jack span to face his friend. "Both of us? 'Scuse me, but I don't think you're the one gonna be workin' with that miserable sonovabitch! You ain't got no fuckin' cause to complain!"

"Well, fine!" A plate was slammed down heavily on the table top, dripping bubbles everywhere. "Jesus! What's with people acting like everything's suddenly my fault today? I was trying to help, you know."

"You didn't do a terribly good fuckin' job of it, did ya?"

Christian swivelled away from the sink to glare at Jack. "I _tried_, you idiot. I _tried_. I did my fucking best. You should be damn grateful I actually did _anything_. I could have just stepped back and given in without a fight, but, no! I wasted my time attempting to help you. Ungrateful bastard."

"Whatever," snarled Jack, "So you tried. Big fuckin' deal. But you ain't the one who's got any right to fuckin' mope about the fact you failed. It ain't all about you, you know! You ain't the only one with problems!"

"You want to know my problems, Jack? My brothers are both in jail on murder charges, my daughter's gone missing for the second time this year, my ex-wife blames her inability to keep the girl in check on me, my sister's just bankrupted herself again, and now my best friend is accusing me of being selfish." Christian snapped Hollywood white fangs together in frustration. "And as far as I can see your biggest problem is that you've pulled your favourite trick again - fucking someone you've just met and then expecting a serious relationship the next morning. You really don't learn, do you?"

Jack growled under his breath and tensed as the Bostonian stalked past him. If Christian made an unexpected move, Jack would have no hope. While the ex-cowboy's fists and muscles were often the last word in many a fight, Christian had two inches and, quite possibly, a lot of experience behind him. No one knew what the man had done before moving to Bylow; the period of his life between leaving school at eighteen and his marriage to the woman he always described as his _second _wife was a mystery to all. Jack, even though he was seething at the world, was not taking any chances.

He heard the door open.

"There's aspirin in the cupboard over the TV, I handed in your column this morning and it would probably be advisable to turn up at work tomorrow reasonably early." Christian's voice was clipped and cold. "And, for the love of God, go easy on the whiskey."

The door slammed shut.

Jack stood very still for a long while, wondering where he'd picked up his talent in pissing people off. Then he sighed, and trudged towards the bathroom, suddenly in great need of a very hot shower to scrub away all his troubles.


	6. Chapter 6

Rain had come to Bylow. The little desert town was drenched. The twisted skeletons of trees that decorated the land beside the highways miraculously sprouted leaves. Grass sprouted determinedly through concrete paths and roads. The trickle of a river that ran through the outskirts of town became a raging torrent.

Bylow's populace were re-energised by the rain - everyone, except Ennis Del Mar, that was.

Ennis had a problem. Well, he had lots of problems, but his main one at the moment was the Leak. The Leak was Ennis's nemesis. Every damn time it rained the bloody thing came back, no matter what Ennis did. Thirty trips to the hardware store hadn't sorted it at all.

He was watching the Leak now, tracking each drip as it splashed down into the saucepan he'd dug out to prevent puddles on his kitchen floor. It was cliché, yes, but at least it was better than having to find the damn mop.

There was no noise apart from the patter of the rain on the roof and the rhythmic dripdrip that the Leak made. Ennis just stood and watched. He just wanted a moment to be quiet and not think at all.

The phone rang.

The mechanic turned slowly and glared at the offending technology. It continued to ring. He didn't move, not wanting his silence to be any more damaged.

_Beeeep_ "Er... Dad? You do know it's Saturday, right?... Cause me and Francie are kinda waiting for you at the mall, and we don't know if you're outside cause it's raining too hard, and if you are outside there's really no point in me calling, right? Jeez, you need a cell phone... But, you know, just in case you are there, well, we're here. Ok?"

"Fuck!" Ennis dived for his car keys and ran out of the house, leaving the Leak to its own devices.

* * *

Ennis scurried into the shelter of the mall and took his hat off to brush the worst of the wet off it. Apparently all of Bylow had taken the day to do some serious shopping and he'd had to park as far away from the building you could get without actually leaving the premises.

Growling about the goddamn weather he glanced about the place, looking for his daughters. He saw neither of them and decided to set out for their favourite music store.

He stalked around a flowerbed occupied by suspiciously shiny plants and spotted Junior. She was chatting away amiably to another girl about her age. Nearby Francie was avidly watching a fountain, stuffing crisps into her mouth like there was no tomorrow.

"Junior!"  


She turned and grinned. The girl she had been talking to scowled and stepped back a bit as Ennis approached. With long black hair and very dark eyes, she struck Ennis as being rather familiar, but he shrugged it off.

"Sorry I'm late, darlin'." There was a quick exchange of hugs. "I guess time just got away from me. You were waitin' long?"

"Not that much." She looked over at the other girl. "This is Meggie. She was just hangin' round too."

Ennis gave Meggie a nod and touched the brim of his hat. The girl's face didn't even twitch from her frown.

"Well," said the mechanic, a bit off-put by the teenager, "You wanna go home now?"

"Sure thing." Junior gathered up her backpack and said goodbye to Meggie. Francie scuttled after her sister and father as they turned away, still munching on the crisps.

Outside the rain had died down a bit, but Ennis still insisted that he run to the car and then drive it up to the entrance so neither of his girls would get too wet. Ennis just had this thing about wanting to protect them. No one had ever tried to do that to him when he was a kid, and he didn't want his children to go through the same thing of only having themselves to depend on. It hadn't totally screwed him up, but it had come damn close at points.

Ennis's father - god rest his stupid stubborn bones - had insisted his sons would not grow up to be 'weakling fags' as he'd so eloquently put it on several occasions. They'd damn well learn to cope for themselves no matter what. He wanted KE and Ennis to be the best, the strongest, the most manly. They were to grow up, get themselves big ranches or big companies, expensive houses and cars, pretty wives and a few kids.

Well... It hadn't quite worked the way he'd hoped. Here Ennis was, for all intents and purposes penniless, divorced, and... ah, yes, with the perennial problem of someone who was not going to be thought about while he was in the same car as his daughters, because even though he knew they'd obviously had the Talk there was something hysterically creepy about one of them noticing... And KE was either dead or lounging in a cardboard box somewhere. He had no idea where his sister was either. So ended the last dreams of Mr. Del Mar Sr.

His car - less battered than a certain columnist's pickup and with a considerably more considerate owner - still squealed as it was parked in Ennis's driveway. Francie made a face at the noise that Ennis caught sight of in the rearview mirror. He stuck his tongue out at her when they all leapt out and dashed for the door.

Inside, amid giggling and shrieks of amused annoyance at having gotten wet, the girls traipsed to their room. Ennis plodded into the kitchen to check on the Leak. It had filled the saucepan to the brim, and a small pool of water was rapidly forming on the floor. He stared at it, mouth twisting - _not_ a good word to use! daughters still in the house! - into a pained sort of grin. At least he'd be able to enlist his kids help in clearing up the mess.

* * *

It appeared that the rain had improved many of the tempers at the Bylow Reporter. The reporters' office was brimming with friendly chatter, even if it was slightly damp from the run across from the carpark. Even Aguirre had ventured from his office to grumble amiably with his employees.

Christian, as ever, had settled on the outskirts of the buzz, carefully watching everyone as they bustled and laughed. Jack was talking away cheerfully, aware that his friend wasn't paying a blind bit of notice. He just wanted noise, to drown out all the painful thoughts in his head before it all got too much.

"Jack!?" It was Helena and she was bouncing madly as though standing on hot coals. Christian frowned and sighed deeply. "Jack, honey, is it true? Is it true?! Tell me!"

Jack managed a look of utter perplexity. The little woman stopped her bouncing and patted his head, giggling madly.

"Oh, you're so cute!!"

Beside Jack, Christian dropped his forehead to the desktop with an audible thump.

"Don't do that, Chrissy. You'll hurt yourself." Helena bounced a few more times for good measure. "Come on Jack! About Randall..."

"Oh...Right... Randall..."


	7. Chapter 7

"Did I hear my name mentioned?" Half the people in the room shuddered at the oily tone. Randall plodded up behind Jack and a placed an altogether too friendly hand on his shoulder.

"No. You're going mad," growled Christian, adding in an under tone, "_Slimy bastard_."

Randall's smile was not friendly. "Never met a guy as funny as you Lachlan." He tightened his grip on Jack's shoulder; the ex-rodeo cowboy went an interesting green colour. "By the way, there's a young lady waitin' for you downstairs. Never had you figured as one who liked kids that much. But it just shows what I know."

The Bostonian sprang out of his chair. "I don't like what you're implying, Malone. Either take that back, or prepare to be visiting your doctor. _Again_."

"I'm just sayin'. She looks pretty young, that's all. Always thought it a terrible thing when a man has to get his kicks - " Randall was thrown back against a wall, Christian's fists locked onto his collar.

"You are a perverted, lying, sack of motherfucking shit, and the day that God realises creating you was the worst mistake he's ever made and removes you from the earth will not be a day too soon."

"_Lachlan!_" The editor stomped over and made a spirited attempt at dragging the columnist away, but failed miserably. No one else moved to help Randall, but all stood silently, watching closely. Aguirre tried the kind but warning approach. "Look, lad, let him go. I don't want to have to call the police." Nothing. A swift change to a severe tone. "Listen, if you don't let him go right bloody now, you won't be finding any work in this town for a hell of a long time!"

Jack stepped up to the plate, gently shoving his boss aside. Even though he rather liked seeing Randall turn red and blue simultaneously he didn't want his friend to get in trouble. "Christian? Maybe ease up a bit? You're gonna choke him."

"Good." His voice was steely - strong as hell, icy cool and as smooth as ever. Jack re-reflected on the absence of past information momentarily, and took another look at his friend's face... Maybe there were things people really didn't need to know?

"Chris!" Oh well, maybe force would work better. He reached out and grabbed a shoulder, pulling hard. One fist was grudgingly towed away from the wheezing reporter's neck.

There was a low murmur behind them. Jack wondered if someone had actually gone and called the cops. After all they may not have liked Randall, but blood was a terribly difficult stain to get out of things.

"Dad?" A small, scared female voice. Probably not the police then. Christian paled so much his skin was almost see through. He dropped Randall to the floor and span. Jack turned too, to see a young woman standing in front of the crowd of journalists. She looked little more than fifteen, and was a bit ruffled and grimy.

"_Meggie?!_" The man placed a hand over his eyes. "Oh, my dear God. What are you doing here?"

"Can't I come visit my dad at work every now and then?" Meggie smiled weakly, sensing her reply was not going down well.

"Not when your dad works in Arizona and you live in bloody Florida!" The hand flew down and bunched into a fist again. "What the hell have you done, girl?!"

"Nothing!! I just didn't want to be with Mom anymore!! I don't like living there with her and _him!_" The last word was dripping with hatred. "You shouldn't be yelling at me anyway! I travelled all this distance by myself to find you! I think that deserves a little credit!"

"Oh, ok then. So does the fact that you drugged your goddamn mother deserve credit too? And stole her credit card and six hundred dollars?" snarled Christian, stalking forward to grab the girl's shoulders. "You are sixteen years old, kid. You travelled a hell of a long way by yourself and in that long way you could have been robbed, murdered, kidnapped, and a lot of things that I really don't need to think about. You disobeyed your mother and stole from her. I nearly had a fucking heart-attack when she told me you'd been missing. You cannot expect bloody forgiveness off the bat!"

Meggie swatted her father's hands away and glared at him stubbornly. He stepped back and shook his head. "We're going to go home and you can call your mother to tell her you're ok. And then you're going to be grounded until she comes to get you."

Everyone else had been silent during this exchange. Christian gathered his coat and laptop without looking at anyone. Meggie reluctantly allowed herself to be pushed through the crowd.

Only after they heard the car doors slam outside did the buzz of excitable conversation start again. Aguirre poked Randall to his feet and led him off. Jack slouched down in Christian's vacated chair.

"Well, that was..." Helena made a face and waved a mildly descriptive hand. "You know..."

"Scary? Out of character? Really, really unbelievable fuckin' strange?" volunteered Jack.

"Yeah, the last one. Jesus." She perched on the desk. "I mean I knew he had kids but it didn't really hit home until I saw her. He's just not a guy you'd expect to be a father." The woman laughed rather nervously. "Hell, you'll be telling me you're a dad next!"

"Er..."

"Oh, Christ, Jack, no!" Helena reached out a foot and pushed his chair away a bit. "You're gay, Jack. There is no way you have a kid."

"I do!"

"How?"  


"Well, the normal wa-"

"_Jack!_"

"Sorry." Jack grinned mischievously for a second until he began to properly think about the question. His smile dropped away and he became very serious, something Helena hadn't been sure he could actually do. "I was in denial. Taught that being queer was wrong and everythin'. I mean, I was a rodeo cowboy! That's a sport for, you know, _men_. Not the limp-wristed sissies that everyone thought gay guys were. Couldn't be anythin' else but straight." He paused. "Ok, that's a lie. Coulda been straight, or you coulda been dead. Ain't much of a choice. So, I married a purdy little wildcat of a gal and settled down, had a kid, and then screwed everythin' up."

Showing remarkable tact for once, Helena left the subject of just how he screwed it up well alone. "Tell me about them. I need some light gossip to make everything normal again."

"Name's Bobby. He's about ten now, but I divorced Lureen when he was, oh, eight? Sounds right. She took it real well actually, was real nice about it, considerin' what I'd done. Still talk to her every week or so, check up on my boy, make sure he's all right in school and stuff." Jack produced his wallet and dug around in it for a moment, before bringing out a picture. Helena took it.

"Aaw, he looks so much like you! Lucky kid. Same gorgeous eyes. Is that Lureen?"

"Yep." Jack took the photo back and looked down at his ex-wife and child smiling happily at the camera that he himself had wielded. "I get worried 'bout him sometimes. I keep thinkin' somethin' awful's gonna happen to him just cause his daddy's gay." He glanced up and then down again, feeling very self-conscious for once, needing to say more about it to someone but knowing now was not the time and Helena not the person. She seemed to sense the unspoken concerns though and smiled gently at him, encouraging him on. "But, he's a good kid. Listens to his mom, tries hard at school, stuff like that. He's got some sorta learnin' problem but he's a damn smart boy. Smarter than his old man by a long shot."

Helena laughed. "Jack, honey, I doubt that would be hard." She stood up and circled to the back of Jack's chair, leaning down over one of his shoulders. "He's a damn lucky boy as well to have a dad as dedicated as you. Don't worry so much. That Lureen sounds like a woman that'll keep him on track." She kissed his cheek gently and walked off.

Jack was, once again, alone.

* * *

It had taken most of the afternoon, but the puddle on the kitchen floor had been cleared up, and the Leak was given a bucket to drip into instead. Tired after waving a sopping mop at her sister and father Francie had retired to the couch, mumbling about being hungry.

"I'll see what I've got, hon," Ennis had replied cheerfully, not caring that he'd have to actually expend some energy cooking, just happy to be around his girls.

There had been a problem, however - the conspicuous lack of food. The mechanic rarely bought fresh stuff in, preferring a trip to the local chinese, but Junior had rather sensibly pointed out there was nothing in the house for breakfast and, while her father and sister could chow down on cold pizza in the morning, she'd rather starve.

This resulted in a trip to the supermarket, which was where Ennis was standing in the dairy aisle and wondering why the shopping cart contained so many packets of biscuits. Francie was apparently working up to a career in reverse pickpocketing. She'd obviously been mischievously crunching her way through a bag of highly sugary mystery sweets, and was close to bouncing off the walls. Junior was surveying her sister with the haughty look that teenagers tend to wear when younger children go hyper.

"Francie, calm down a bit," muttered Ennis as the girl sprinted up the aisle. She merely giggled and repeated the process before diving around the corner. Ennis heard her shoes squeaking against the floor.

"Jeez," sighed Junior, trying out her 'put upon by small children' face. Ennis smiled and shook his head.

From the next aisle there was an unholy crash and then a wail that would have woken the dead.

* * *

Loneliness had driven Jack from the office, and hunger had led him to the supermarket. He didn't feel like ordering in - he'd been doing that too much lately, and not getting enough exercise to counter-act it. So until he either started his morning runs or renewed his gym membership, there was to be an absence of greasy fast foods in his house.

Ambling down through an aisle he could have sworn contained bread last week but was now full of rather poisonous looking chemicals, he was passed by a small child travelling at high speed. He was automatically reminded of Bobby and his obsession with racing the trolleys around the shops back in Texas, often severely inconveniencing other shoppers along the way.

The girl screeched to a halt, giggling as she slid across the floor, sprinted back past him and then thundered back up. There was a wire basket filled with air freshener aerosols at the end of the aisle, and, when the child misjudged her braking capabilities, it turned out to be very unstable and complete with nastily sharp edges.

Jack had never heard a scream quite so piercing, but the automatic fatherhood circuits were already sparking to life and he quickly forgot about the pained signals from his ears. Kneel down, mutter sympathetically, gently smooth hair out of the way to look at where that bleeding's coming from - 

ow, that looks _nasty_ -, anything else?, grazed kneecap, of course, and a scrape down the shin, all clear apart from those.

Someone else knelt down beside the girl, a shadow flittered anxiously behind the new figure, and Jack rocked back onto his heels, figuring himself to be slightly less needed. He looked up at the hovering shadow and frowned, not because of the pretty teenager with the deep red hair and the terrified expression, but because of the man she resembled. A mild sort of horror bubbled up in his stomach and he glanced at the other kneeling figure. Oh.. Of course... It would be, wouldn't it? It just had to be...

Ennis didn't look up from soothing his sobbing daughter, even though he knew that it had been Jack sitting beside her. Francie was a welcome distraction from another bitter argument.

It was Jack who spoke first. "That gonna need a trip to the ER?"

"Er..." Ennis floundered momentarily, "Er.. Nah, probably not. We'll just go to the doctor's, it'll be quicker. Don't think it'll need anything serious done, just a scrape really. Head wounds just bleed a lot." Once he started talking, it was very difficult to stop. "Junior, sweetheart, take my wallet and go pay for the stuff, ok?"

"Sure thing." Junior hurried off, looking pale.

Francie, noting that the majority of the attention seemed to be slipping away from her plight, began a series of little hicuppy wails.

"Hey, hey, come on, sweetie, no cryin' now. Cheer up, huh? It's not all that bad. Come on, you'll be getting lots of attention from this, probably lots of sweets and stuff. I always gave my kid stuff when he got hurt or upset. Always gave him lots of love too, and I'll expect you'll be gettin' tons, cause you're just so adorable." Even though Ennis was still rocking her gently, it was Jack's soothing that quietened her to whimpers again. She even managed a weak grin as a return to one of his best smiles. Even her anxious, and rather lovesick, father had to grin as well.

Ennis stood up, still holding the girl easily. Jack staggered upright a little less elegantly, earning himself a quiet giggle from amid Francie's tears.

"Well, see ya round." He turned to leave. "Hope ya feel better soon, sweetheart."

"Hey, Jack?" Ennis spoke quietly, as though he hoped the columnist wouldn't hear him. "Jack?"

"Yeah?" Jack didn't turn around, not trusting himself to refrain from screaming at the man or joining the little girl in her pained crying.

"Thanks for, you know, trying to help." Ennis coughed awkwardly. "Er, see ya round then...?"

And there was just a little curl on the end of the sentence, the one Jack had avoided putting on his, that made the columnist's heart give a tiny little flutter of hope.

The question mark had just become Jack Twist's favourite bit of punctuation.


	8. Chapter 8

It was Sunday, and Jack was not feeling very religious at all.

Jack often wondered if there was a god after all. His mama had always believed - believed just as strongly in God as she had that her husband would eventually stop abusing their son. Sometimes the columnist reckoned that that was why he could never bring himself to go to church anymore. Other times when he was feeling less than sober he admitted it was because he always expected to see Jesus flying around the room when he prayed. But Jesus was never there, and when Jack had been little he had to see things to believe.

He'd never really grown out of that, never found himself able to trust in something unless he had proper evidence. There had been points when he had suspected, very briefly, that Bobby wasn't actually his, but when the kid turned those bright blue, perfectly innocent but obviously guilty eyes on him that had swiftly cured his worries. He hadn't trusted Christian at the start, preferring to think of the man as little more than an arrogant bastard who got away with too much, but when the Bostonian found him a job and then, when being employed by someone who wasn't his father-in-law got too stressful, gave him a holiday in the Caribbean, and then proceeded to expect nothing in return, Jack had revised his opinion substantially.

Now, did he believe that there was a chance for him and Ennis?... That tiny little question of Ennis's had been hopeful, but it wasn't proof. It was very close to being nothing, and Jack had a sneaking suspicion that if called out on it Ennis would claim it to be exactly that. But while he was thinking on what the mechanic had said, he recalled the little phrase that had very nearly broke his heart.  
_  
"Jack, no! This was a one shot thing!"_ That had cut straight to the bone. Even remembering it made Jack's stomach do unpleasant turns. He groaned and batted his eyes open to stare at the ceiling above his bed. He did his best thinking in bed with his eyes closed, without any distractions, especially in the early morning when he'd had the night to think stuff over. There never was one for making snap decisions like Jack Twist.

So, back to his original thought then - it was Sunday. And never mind the fact that Jack was currently practising atheism, it was much too cosy in his bed. It would have been cosier with someone else in it, but Jack knew when to cut his losses.

Cautiously he stuck a foot out from under the sheets. He withdrew it hurriedly, and snuggled deeper. Apparently his air-conditioner was being over-enthusiastic again, because it was freezing.

"God_damn_," he muttered, throat still scratchy from sleep. "Why don't you work half as well in the afternoons then?"

Now that he had questioned the air conditioner's aptitude at its job he was out of things to do. Well, there were two things, but one required getting up and the other wasn't going to happen because these were clean sheets.

Alternatively he could lie in bed and talk to someone on the phone, but he'd need someone to talk to. There was a list of four people - his mom, Lureen, Christian or Helena. He wasn't calling his 

mother because that might end up in John Twist Snr. snatching the phone and screeching something along the lines of 'you're a filthy good-fer-nothin' faggot and I told yer to stop callin' this damn house' down the line, which Jack knew upset his mom. Of course it kind of upset him too but he didn't have to live with the sonovabitch anymore, so he cared less and less what the old man thought every day. Lureen was undoubtedly still in bed, and wouldn't be getting up for at least another hour, if Jack knew his ex-wife correctly. Christian was going to be seriously stressed about Meggie and heading off to church at the same time - Jack could never figure out why the man went but he supposed he had a name to live up to. And Helena was probably outside painting the sunrise or doing other impressively artistic things.

But calling people was going to sound needy, wasn't it? Exactly. So, therefore, even if there was someone to call, he wouldn't be calling them. Obviously.

His attempt to comfort himself failed miserably. He was alone and that seemed unlikely to change for a while. So, he better had make the most of the day and get up. There was TV to watch after all, and maybe a chance to spot that cute college kid that did the paper round.

Just as he was bracing himself to get up, the phone rang. He picked up the reciever.

"Jack?" It was Helena.

"Yeah?"

"Good, glad I got you. I've been dialling your cell phone for _ages_ but you never picked up."

Jack absently looked around the bedroom, peering at the various places he'd normally set his phone down. "I dunno where it is. Probably left it in the car."

"Well, that's useful." The artist's tone was deeply acidic.

"What's wrong, hon?"

She sighed. "Ah, hell. Nothing's really wrong. Just feeling put out about dialling that goddamn number so many times. And my mother's invaded my house, and she's a nosy cow. So, what's up?"

"Nothin'..." Highly suspicious. Helena was making small talk. This was building up to a request for gossip or a favour, he could tell.

"No need to sound like that. Jeez, some people." There was a ceramic clatter on the other end of the line. "Damn. You'd think I'd know to make these vases easy to pick up one handed, wouldn't you? I mean I always seem to wait until I'm on the phone to freshen the flowers. Anyway, you doing anything interesting today?"

"Nope. Probably not."

"Darn, you are boring. Say, I'm not delaying you getting to church or anything, am I?"

"I ain't going to church. Couldn't be bothered."

"Good, good, good..." There was a sneaky pause. "I'm not interrupting anything else am I?"

This time Jack sighed. "No. Ain't interruptin' a damn thing."

"Pity. I'd thought you would have had a nice guy curled up beside you. Or making you breakfast. Or whatever."

"Hah. I wish." He couldn't stop the slight bitterness coming through into his voice.

"Oh, so you have a target?

"I have a fantasy. It ain't happenin', but I really wish it would."

"He's straight then?"

"No, he's just got closet issues."

"Ah, damn. Tough luck, babe." Another clatter and then a piercing nasal tone muttered something in the background. Helena snorted, and Jack heard a door close. "Sorry, that's my mother. I'm trying to avoid talking to her."

"And there was me thinkin' you loved me."

"I do J-" She was interrupted by a muffled screech. "Oh _fuck_, she's spotted the iguana. Gotta go!"

"See ya," Jack mumbled to the sound of the dial tone. "Nice of you to call."

* * *

There wasn't anything else to do at all, so Jack went for a walk.

It was warm but damp, the water from the recent rain still evaporating slowly. The result was mildly unpleasant, but Jack didn't care. He just needed to get out of his house or he thought he'd go mad.

He had found his way to the centre of the town and had ambled around the various buildings and parks for a while. The streets were empty, apart from one car which had nearly flattened Jack as he had crossed the road.

Near the Town Hall, the biggest park of all was dripping quietly in a damp green way. The columnist strode along the path, occasionally shaking his head to dislodge the water from his hair. He was absently watching the newly sprouted leaves above him when he heard someone jog up and fall into 

step beside him.

"Hey."

He looked down and across and gasped. It was Ennis. A grin spread across his features. There was just something about the man that made him smile.

"Hey." Ennis repeated, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes in confusion as Jack's smile continued to widen. "You goin' to church or somethin'?"

"Nah." Jack shook his head and stopped walking, surprised at himself for answering in a vaguely sensible way, crossing to the fence that surrounded a rather pathetic little pond. "You?" He swiftly formed a plan to keep Ennis around the place. Let's keep it simple, no big scary difficult questions. Keep it friendly and you're in with a chance to at least ogle him every time your truck breaks down.

"Had to drop Francie and Junior off at their Sunday School. Too late to get to my church now." Ennis remained in the middle of the path, scuffing his right boot along the ground. "I just wanna say thanks for helpin' with Francie yesterday. She really took a shine to you."

"Hmm. No problem. Glad to hear she's ok." Perfectly neutral and calm, pretending that it really was nothing, that he only cared because it was a kid.

"Yeah, well..." More scuffing. "Just wondered if you'd, er... well... if you'd wanna come over tonight. For a drink, I mean." Ennis added hastily. "Y'know, to say thanks."

Jack's barely interested shrug was well practised, but it was undermined somewhat by the massive grin on his face. "Sure. Sounds all right."

The mechanic switched his scuffing foot. "Right. Er... I'm number 5 on Frank Street. See ya bout seven, ok?" He looked up for a second and then strode off. Jack was left watching him go, but laughing in joy inwardly all the same.

* * *

Ennis had to resist the urge to run from the columnist's piercing gaze. He wasn't entirely sure what had just come over him. Why the hell had he just invited Jack over? He was trying to get the man out of his head, and this was not going to help at all.

He had dropped the girls off and then driven home to find the Sunday paper sitting there, getting dripped on in kitchen. The only bit that had been readable had been, of course, the Columns section. Complete with full page photo. And after that Ennis couldn't focus on anything but those goddamn blue eyes, and that had been the end of his relaxing Sunday. This meant he had a choice of fidgeting round the house, getting more and more frustrated with everything, or getting out and going for a drive or a walk or something.

He had planned just for a quick jog around the neighbourhood, but something made him grab his car keys instead. Turned out it was the best choice he would make for a while, because, whilst driving down an almost abandoned street he was forced to swerve to avoid someone who had obviously not paid attention to any road safety lectures he had been given. _Jack._

Ennis was going to drive on, was going to leave it be. His hands turned the steering wheel in the opposite direction to where the loudest part of his brain was telling them to go, and the car was parked, switched off and vacated. Now his feet joined the conspiracy, trotting at a faster pace than normal to catch up to the man in front of him.

Jack was watching the trees or something and hadn't noticed him.

"Hey."

And now those gorgeous eyes were on Ennis's face and those perfect wide lips were forming a deliriously happy grin. The mechanic swiftly lost control of his temperamental tongue. He repeated himself. "Hey."

The thought struck him that Jack was wandering alone through this park on a Sunday morning, when most people would be heading off to their services. And now that smile was worryingly large, and Ennis kept losing his train of thought, and... and Jack was walking away from him. Just to the fence, not that far away, but still... His tone was barely interested. Ennis suddenly felt very embarrassed and very lost, not knowing how to guide this conversation. His foot started to twitch across the sandy path of its own accord.

And then... "Just wondered if you'd, er... well... if you'd wanna come over tonight." What?! He didn't mean to say that! How the hell had that happened? But it was too late to take back now, so a little clarification was needed. "For a drink, I mean. Y'know, to say thanks."

If Jack said no, Ennis thought he'd probably die right there on the spot. But the grin that was re-forming across Jack's face gave away the answer. The mechanic only managed to blurt out his address and the time, look up to meet those wonderful sapphire eyes and then desperately scuttle off, trying to do so with as much dignity as possible.

He just reached his car when the full force of what had just happened hit him. Oh, god... Was he screwed. It was going to be the incident in the garage all over again, wasn't it? Well, actually... It needn't be. Ennis knew that forming a steady obvious relationship with Jack was a big no-go area, but maybe a little secretive one? Would that be so hard? He knew the guy had issues with people using him, that much had been apparent, but if they could strike up a friendship then maybe it wouldn't be seen as using.

And he was so desperate for just another minute of being near that man, he almost believed it.


	9. Chapter 9

Never had Jack felt so twitchy in all his life. He needed half-six to come along quicker, so he could get in his car and drive at some rather illegal speeds across to Ennis's house. He was in his kitchen now, rattling his fingers on the countertop, tapping his foot, watching the clock tick round ridiculously slowly.

He forced himself to look away for a bit; knowing watching the clock was going to make the time seem longer. But when he looked back it had moved on a grand total of thirty seconds and after that he gave up.

He was about to snatch the clock off the wall and batter it against the table when the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Mm, Jack?" Christian's normal smooth Boston tones were rough and scratchy.

The columnist scrunched his nose up, almost annoyed at his friend for calling so close to that blessed time when he'd see that heavenly man again. "Chris? You all right?"

"Six hours of arguing with Meggie. It's done my throat in."

"Ouch. You all right 'sides from that?"

"Reasonable." Christian coughed painfully. "Fuck... Yeah, aside from the impending loss of my voice, things are fairly all right."

"So you called me because...?" Jack rolled his eyes; trying to get any information from this man was like trying to get blood from a stone.

"Needed to talk to someone who isn't related to me or sleeping with someone related to me."

"Ah, well, bad time to tell you that your cousin says hi then?" There was no way Jack would miss that opportunity to tease Christian.

"Funny, but I don't have any cousins that you'd sleep with unless you're into grave robbery and necrophilia. And incidentally if you even think about mentioning either of my brothers right now, I will murder you."

"Fair enough. You've been talkin' to Meggie's mom then?"

"And her newest boyfriend," sighed Christian miserably.

"I thought she was sleepin' with your brother?" Jack gave his kitchen cupboards a confused look. Christian's family and their lives would be prime talk show material.

"She can't, because he's in prison for killing someone right now. So she's screwing the sleazy 

sonovabitch lawyer in charge of his case instead."

Jack winced, even though there wasn't anyone there to see it, feeling the exasperation pouring down the telephone line.

"I'm guessin' he's the guy Meggie told you she didn't want to go back to yesterday then."

"Yes; and if I'm to believe her she doesn't want to go back because he's made some very unpleasant advances towards her. It's very tempting to drive down there and push him into a particularly alligator infested part of the Everglades."

The columnist made a sympathetic 'hmm' noise, wisely knowing when to back away from touchy subjects.

"She's not going back while he's still there, you know," said Christian sharply, without any prompting at all. "I may not be the best father in the world, but I'm not letting that man near her again. She's_ told_ me what he's said- in graphic detail- and believe you me, it was damn lucky I was near the sink at the time."

Another 'hmm', this one less non-committal and more 'I might join you in feeding this man to the alligators.'

The Bostonian sighed miserably. "I shouldn't be telling you all this," he muttered, "You sounded cheerful when you picked up the phone. I don't want to bring you down."

"I'd like to see ya try!" Jack was determined to spread a bit of his happiness to his friend. "Remember your mechanic?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"He's asked me over," laughed Jack, "I mean it's for a drink, but you never know, right?"

His enthusiasm was infectious. Christian chuckled too and then spoke gently and quietly, as though afraid he'd scare Jack away. "You do realise that this is not an invitation to turn up on his doorstep with a suitcase, a wedding ring and a couple of plane tickets to Massachusetts?"

"_Yes_, Christian."

"Just checking." Another sigh, but this was almost, but not quite, contented. "Well, that's good. Didn't like seeing you torn up over him."

It normally took a lot to make Jack blush, but the combination of excitement about Ennis and the grudging admission from his best friend that he actually did care, proved a heady mix. His cheeks flushed crimson and he opened and shut his mouth silently, fish-like, for a few moments.

"Thank you," he finally whispered. He caught the gentle snort and the shift of plastic against hair on the other side of the line as Christian accepted the gratitude in his normal silent way, a gentle nod and a smile.

"I should let you go now," said Christian eventually, "You're probably dying to go anyway."

Jack glanced up at the clock. Twenty-five past. He could either dash off to Ennis's place and leave Christian to mope alone or stay and continue cheering the man up.

"Think I could spare five minutes."

* * *

Ennis was, and this was very clear, _not_ panicking. Really, very clearly, obviously _not_. No sir, no way. Not a chance.

Never.

A three-hour cleaning spree had provided a welcome distraction from the sense of impending doom he was suffering, but now he was all out of things to do except staring at the clock and trying not to whimper. He dreaded the moment he'd hear that awful pickup cough to a stop outside, but at the same time he couldn't wait.

It went seven. Ennis froze, as though expecting to hear the truck draw up outside exactly on the dot. Gradually he coaxed his body down into the closest thing he could get to relaxation at that moment and time, and crossed to the fridge to get a beer.

He was standing in front of the sink, ripping the sodden label off the bottle piece by piece, when there was a hefty knock on the door. The bottle crunched to the cheap metal and broke, but Ennis ignored it, and strode to the front door on legs that were suddenly very wobbly indeed. And sure enough there was Jack, leaning on the doorframe and holding a six-pack.

Jack's gentle smile did not help Ennis's trembling knees. Neither did the knowing glint in his eyes, which seemed to taunt the mechanic even as they exchanged perfectly neutral hellos - _This was just to say thanks? Like hell it is. Why don't you just admit it? Ain't that hard._

They settled onto the sofa, a beer each. Silence fell. Jack hated it when it got quiet like that. He cast around for a discussion topic.

"You get a lot of customers then? From your garage?"

Startled, Ennis looked up from studying his bottle. "Fair amount. Nothin' to complain about, I guess. S'pose I could do with a few more, get a bit of extra money."

"Would'a thought you'd be coinin' it. You got Christian comin' to you."  


"Well, none of my other customers have as many cars as him. Mostly get my custom from one little ol' lady who's a bit of a menace."

Jack nodded. "Mrs. Bowyer? She's run me off the road twice this year. Got a damn big dent in my front bumper thanks to her."

The mechanic refrained from pointing out that the front bumper of Jack's pickup was _all_ dent. It would be an un-dented bit that would have stuck out. "What 'bout you? You write a column in the _Sunday Reporter_, don't you?"

A one-shouldered shrug implied that his salary could be better. "It's enough. Wouldn't say no to more though." He took a deep swig of his drink. "I'll tell you somethin' though, bout my job and my pay. I gotta start workin' with this guy, Randall Malone. You heard of him? Sports guy?"

Ennis indicated the name was slightly familiar.

"Well, he's a sonovabitch. He's disgustin', thinks he's God's gift to everyone. Of course, I've said I don't even wanna go near the guy, but do they listen? Course not. So, me, I gotta go round and help with this sports crap that I ain't gonna ever understand with this bastard, and they don't even raise my pay. Nice of them, ain't it?"

Amazed by the speed at which Jack Twist could talk, and mildly startled at the mention of this Randall person - 'thinks he's God's gift to everyone'? That sounded... ominous - Ennis could only shake his head slightly and gulp down the rest of his beer. Jack followed his example.

"Want another?" Ennis didn't wait for a reply, and went to get a few fresh bottles anyway. He had a feeling he'd need them.

The silence fell again. But this time Ennis started talking first, the alcohol loosening his tongue. He'd noticed the big silver buckle on Jack's belt - now why had he been looking there? - noting the bucking bull.

"You a rodeo cowboy?" He pointed in the vague direction of the buckle. Jack glanced down, grinned and nodded.

"Mmm-hmm. Won me a few of these things. Didn't last long though, cause I got married and Lureen wouldn't let me anywhere near a bull after that. Said she'd seen too many men get stomped into the dust by a wild steer." He peered at Ennis momentarily. "You all right there? You've gone a little pale."

"You got a _wife_?" hissed Ennis. Well, this was great! Not only had he screwed a guy, but also the guy was married. Oh, lord...

"Had. We got divorced two years back." The other man's panic was not lost on Jack. He reached 

across and placed one hand gently on Ennis's arm, noting the slight shiver and feeling his own body tremble in response. "You divorced too?"

"Yeah..." Even though that hand on his arm was soothing beyond belief, Ennis still narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "How'd you know that?"

"You have two kids," said Jack, "And that... incident in your garage." He removed his hand from Ennis and rubbed his knuckles to his forehead, scrunching his eyes closed and sighing; remembering the 'incident' made him want to kick something hard.

"It was three years ago. Weren't fun. Alma was usin' the bad provider angle to get sympathy, sayin' I wasn't takin' care of my girls and spendin' all our money on drink and crap." Ennis snorted his annoyance, for once not noticing the grin that replaced the momentarily miserable look on Jack's face. He had hated Alma so much right then as she'd accused him of that. He'd never hit a woman, especially not the mother of his children but goddamn it, he wanted to get the point into her head that this was not fair or clever.

"Hmm... Lureen had every right to ask for a divorce, but it was me that did it in the end. She was so unhappy, but she didn't wanna say anythin', cause then her dad would be gloatin' over us breakin' up and sayin' he told her so, askin' why the hell she ever married me in the first place. He was a horrible bastard, all right. Though I guess I gotta thank him. She only married me cause she was kinda sick of her daddy's type of men. Wanted somethin' different that she could show off to her friends, I think. Be able to say 'Well my husband may not own some goddamn tractor firm and he ain't no high flying business man, but he sure as hell is easier on the eyes than yours. Sure he's kinda wild, but he's more fun than your husband is'." Another swig of the beer that had been forgotten during their forays into each other's personal life was gulped down, and Jack laughed. "But I screwed stuff up and she musta realised havin' a guy like me for a husband wasn't gonna be as easy as she'd hoped. Couldn't bear to see that pretty thing so torn up bout it so I just decided leavin' would best thing for the both of us."

Ennis nodded companionably. And now it was his hand that drifted to Jack's arm, a touch to show he was listening and that right now, in that exact moment, everything was just as he felt it should be.

Well, almost.

His hand tightened around Jack's forearm, tugging slightly. But Jack felt it, shifted slightly closer, closing his fingers around his beer bottle so tightly in his excitement the glass nearly cracked.

Ennis turned his head the other way, raising his other hand, gnawing anxiously on a hangnail. Turned back to meet those blue eyes. Jack raised his chin, tilting his head back slightly; trying to balance out the nervousness he knew was showing on his face with confident body language. Swiftly he gave up, dropping his head down demurely, almost teasingly, wanting Ennis to reach out and join their gazes again.

He did.  


Fingers lightly tucked under Jack's chin, catching against dark stubble, other hand setting the beer bottle down so he could re-grip an arm. A smile spread across one face and then the other, off set by both sets of eyes filling with deep pain from wanting this - and them - so much.

They leant in; eyes flickered shut to hide raw emotions from the other. Lips touched.

_This_ kiss was perfection.


	10. Chapter 10

They drew apart slowly, eyes flickering open to stare pointedly at the carpet on the other side of the room.

Jack bit his tongue to keep from saying something stupid, and licked his lips nervously. He could taste Ennis; an oddly comforting mix of too much alcohol, too many cigarettes and something Jack could only think of as _work_. Jack's eyes flickered shut again, and he smiled fondly, as if he was remembering a favourite dream.

The movement was not lost on the mechanic, even though he was looking the other way, and he smiled too. His hand settled on Jack's knee as though it was meant to be there.

"Jack?"

Jack's hand came to rest on top of Ennis's. All the while Jack continued to smile, eyes shut, committing the moment to memory.

"Yes, Ennis?"

Fingers entwined.

"Need to tell you somethin'."

The columnist opened his eyes, his dream in danger of shattering. "Yeah?"

"We've got ourselves a problem here," whispered Ennis. He felt Jack try to tug his hand away, but held on, refusing to let him go. The columnist shot him a look from under thick lashes, _what? what the hell is your problem? don't do this to me..._

"Look Jack... Look I ain't good with sayin' stuff, but I guess I gotta explain this the best I can..." Ennis took a deep breath, still seeing those pained blue eyes even though they'd looked away again. "Y'know the way you make you're livin' from words? And that if you say the wrong thing, well, you're in deep shit?... Well, I've got that kinda trouble too, but it ain't really the same. Cause what I do speaks more to people than what I say... My mama always used to say to me that my actions were more my words than my words were..." Another flash of blue, this time deeply confused as well as deeply hurt. "So.. What I'm tryin' to say is that... I want to be with you."

Jack's head jerked around at lightning speed, eyes even wider than before, looking for the flaws. Ennis could barely even bring himself to say the rest of what he needed to tell the man.

"But, the problem is, I can't really be with you... You can imagine the kinda crap I'd get, and I got my kids and an ex-wife to support, and I can't afford to lose any of my customers. And if Alma ever found out, she'd never let me see Junior and Francie again... You see where I'm comin' from?" Inwardly Ennis cringed at the look on Jack's face.

"I see..." Jack wasn't sure whether he wanted to punch the man again, just run away or wait and see 

if anything more was forthcoming. Ennis had said he wanted to be with him, but all the stuff after that had left him feeling a bit lost at sea. What was this leading to?

Ennis bit his lower lip, and then plunged on. "Course that don't mean we couldn't be friends..."

Brown and blue met again.

Now Jack understood. Well... What now? Secret relationships weren't him, and he didn't want to have to hide the fact he was with someone. But... This was _Ennis_, not some stupid Texan rancher with more money than brain cells. He was going to nod, agree to this, even though it would cause him no small amount of misery.

He nodded.

After all, the misery did come with a large helping of a certain adorable mechanic.

Ennis grinned and leant forward again, firstly for a deeper kiss and then to push the other man all the way down...

* * *

Normally Jack had issues with Mondays. Today though, he felt as though he could cope - mostly because Ennis had just handed him a mug of coffee.

"Hey." The mechanic's early morning rumble sent tingles along Jack's spine. He took the mug gratefully all the same - even Ennis's voice wasn't quite enough to wake him up. Which was a bit strange, because it wasn't actually like they'd been _sleeping_ the night before.

"What time you have to be in work for?" Ennis sat down at the table, smoothing out a blotchy copy of the Sunday paper.

"Don't really matter... Before noon, preferably." Jack laughed as Ennis raised an eyebrow. "Ok, before 10."

"Really? I think you're just stallin', rodeo." Ennis winked as he said the last word, a reminder of the night before when the two men had a rather practical 'discussion' about Jack's riding capabilities.

"And why would I be doin' that?"

"Hmmph. Shush up and drink your coffee if you ain't gonna talk sense."

"Fine. I'm meant to be in by nine, and since it's a Monday we'll be havin' a damn meetin' like we always do." The columnist scrunched his nose up in a way that made his companion suddenly become very interested in his paper indeed. When he eventually did lower it, he was treated to a smirk and a wink before Jack sprang up and ambled back to the living room to locate his clothes.

"Which is why - " He hopped inelegantly back into the kitchen, tugging on his jeans. " - I'd probably be better movin' along now." His shirt made his mussed up hair even messier, but he flattened it with a few swipes of his hand.

"Damn," muttered Ennis, standing up too, grasping belt-loops and pulling the man close. They nuzzled together affectionately, stubble rasping and grazing. "You need a shave, rodeo."

"So do you." Jack's hands shot up to grab Ennis's face. "But I'm thinkin' you should leave it a bit. Kinda like stubble on a guy."

Ennis snorted and kissed him, deeply and carefully, wanting to get across all of his feelings in that one moment of contact. "Go on then, boy. Before you get me all riled up again."

Jack chuckled and gave him a mock-salute before heading towards the door. In the process of opening it he stopped and turned. Ennis was standing watching him, still completely naked.

"You know how to get in touch with me right?" He didn't even bother to try and will the slight tremor from his voice. "You need my number?"

"Sure..." A scrap of paper beside the phone table was pointed at. Jack obediently scribbled his number down.

"Right..." Deep breath. A forced smile. "You might wanna step away from the door, case of any nosy neighbours. I might appreciate you right now, but I don't think they would."

The mechanic nodded. The door squeaked open and then slammed shut. Moments later the pickup groaned to life, and coughed its way down the street.

Ennis crossed to the phone table and looked down at the scrawl of numbers on the paper. He picked it up, nodded again to himself and then set it down almost reverentially. After a few more seconds of looking at it he picked up the pen and carefully drew a small heart in the corner.

* * *

Of course, there was no way Jack was actually going to arrive on time. For one he kept getting lost; he'd never really been in this part of town before. But once he did find a street he was familiar with, if only for the gay bar on the corner, he was reasonably on his way.

Guard Street was busy too, swarming with school buses and commuters. About ten annoying minutes of sitting in traffic Jack finally made it to the _Reporter_ parking lot, stopping his truck beside Christian's Mercedes. Trying not to be caught out by the temperamental doors again, Jack clambered out and then stopped. There was a series of scrapes along the German saloon's wheel-arch, as though someone had cuffed another car or a bollard while driving. That was odd... Christian didn't crash his cars. He just _didn't._

Jack jogged across the road and into the building, so deep in thought he only nodded to Morgan the receptionist when she waved at him.

The meeting had already started; Aguirre was standing at one end of the room, most of the employees gathered around in a vague semi-circle. Some were loitering a bit further back, muttering quietly to each other. Jack spotted Christian at his desk, where he was staring at a sheet of paper blankly, like he'd started to read it but his concentration had faded. The man looked sick and tired; nothing like his normal self.

"Hey, Jack." Someone tapped him on the shoulder. It was Helena. She gestured towards the Bostonian. "What's up with his lordship? I've called him Chrissy five times this morning and he didn't say anything."

"I think all this stuff with his kid's just got to him," sighed Jack. Helena made a sympathetic face and turned away to search out more gossip.

Halfway across the room someone tapped Jack again. In a considerably more personal place that was very much reserved for one person. He span, fists already bunching, knowing who it was even before he saw the horrible, smarmy bastard.

"Ready to help me then Jack?" There was something about the way he said 'help' that made the ex-rodeo cowboy doubt he was talking about the sports section. All he got was a curt shrug. As Jack turned away again, he felt a hand grab the back of his belt.

"Hey!" He span again, catching Randall's wrist and gripping hard enough to feel bones compress alarmingly. "If I've gotta work with you, you're gonna follow my rules, understand?" White-faced in pain and surprise, Randall nodded silently. "Good. The one I want you to learn today is this: keep your sweaty paws to yourself. I don't appreciate bein' groped by total strangers." He let go and strode over to his desk as quickly as possible without looking back.

"Well done," mumbled Christian, not looking away from the page. "Stupid bastard can barely keep his trousers on. Five minutes ago he was drooling over Dolores." Jack glanced over at the woman in question, who was a fearsome figure at 6 foot in her bare feet and who towered over everybody in the room in her wickedly pointy stilettos. He wasn't sure why anyone would want to risk drooling over Dolores when she was wearing those shoes, unless they had some sort of pain fetish.

"That why he's sittin' so awkwardly?"

"Probably. Dolores must be losing her touch though. Last time she kicked him, he was off work for three days." Christian set the page down and leant back in his seat, hands over his face. "Oh, lord."

"Bad night?"

"Dire."

Jack settled into his chair and peered at the paper Christian had been staring at earlier. It was blank. Yeah, someone was either suffering sleep deprivation or going insane.

"Should you be in? I know Aguirre's a dick, but sure he don't need you for anythin' does he?"

"He doesn't. I'm only here to tell him I'm going to have to take some time off to make sure Meggie doesn't do anything stupid to herself."

The noise level suddenly increased. Aguirre was gathering up a sheaf of notes, people were shuffling off towards the vending machines and cafeteria in search of coffee. The editor spotted the two men through a gap in the crowd and stomped over.

He was about to say something pissy about them talking during the meeting, no doubt, but took one look at Christian and changed tack. "Somethin' wrong, Lachlan?"

"I need some time off." Christian slumped forward again, bloodshot eyes vaguely focusing on his boss, "I've got problems with my daughter."

"She the girl that turned up here on Saturday?"

"Yeah... I don't want to leave her alone too long."

"Just as long as you get your column in, I don't care," snorted Aguirre, his moment of concern long gone, "The way I hear it though, you guys normally only turn up in the mornin' and then leave as soon as I'm safely in my office. Won't make much difference if you didn't come in at all frankly." He stomped back off.

"What a lovely man," said Christian, standing up stiffly. He stretched, a move which attracted a lot of attention from the female members of staff, and a few of the guys as well. Jack kept his eyes on the notebook he'd dragged out of the mess on his desk, smiling faintly to himself.

"Jack...?"

He looked up to see his friend watching him curiously, head tilted.

"Thinking about something interesting?"

"Replace the 'thing' with 'one' and try again."

"Ah, so your evening with my mechanic turned out all right then?"

"Yeah." Jack frowned a bit. "We're friends. That's really it. Just friends..."

Now it was Christian's turn to frown. "Not liking the way that last sentence tailed off, Jack. I may be bloody tired but I'm not stupid. What _are_ you getting yourself into?"

The younger man glanced around nervously. No one was paying any attention to them anymore. "I'm not meant to tell you any of it, all right? It's just..."

"What?"

"Ennis... He's still got issues. Thinks he's gonna lose all his customers if he comes out. And he's scared that his ex-wife'll stop him seein' his kids." Jack gave Christian a pleading look, needing approval for reasons he wasn't sure of.

"This is going to end badly, Jack," muttered Christian. But then he shrugged and smiled slightly. "Of course, nearly everything always does. Do what you want, just be careful, all right? I don't need people turning up on my doorstep at three am again."

Jack nodded, biting the inside of his lip as his friend walked away. Christian always seemed to point out the reality of the situation that Jack would be trying to ignore. He wasn't sure what the hell he was going to do about him and Ennis. The only thing that occurred to him at the moment was to go along with the mechanic's idea until they were suitably attached to each other and he was ready to listen to Jack's ideas about non-secret relationships. Until then the columnist didn't know what he was going to do. Dropping by at Ennis's house once a week, avoiding the area entirely at weekends in case Alma was skulking about the place, not telling anyone he was spoken for - which was going to be extra hard because Ennis was the kind of guy you wanted to show off.

Jack had a nasty feeling Christian was, once more, going to be right.


	11. An Interlude

Want the porn?

As of the reinforcement of FF's rules about M content, I will be editing the contents of any of my stories containing such goings on. While I don't necessarily agree with this sudden and strangely arbitrary enforcement, I find this site the easiest to use for posting fanfiction on and it supplies me with the greatest audience, so I will maintain my presence here for as long as possible.

If you want to find the M rated parts of my stories, look me up on Archive Of Our Own or LiveJournal, under this same penname.


	12. Chapter 11

His lines of defence were dwindling. If Helena decided to take the day off, Jack would be left with only himself to discourage Randall's advances. Not that Jack had any objection to punching the guy, and maybe then kicking him depending on the situation, but he did have issues with prison cells.

Thankfully Randall was busily chatting to a photographer, who kept looking wildly around the room for an escape route. Jack covered his smile with a hand at the pained look that crossed the photographer's face as Randall leant in to whisper something. Other people were watching the pair as well, carefully avoiding the trapped man's gaze when he glanced around desperately again - it was cruel, but at least it wasn't them.

Jack winced as Randall laid a hand on the photographer's shoulder - he reckoned that in about three minutes, the reporter would have either worn the other man down enough for them to end up fucking in one of the unoccupied offices downstairs, or he would be lying on the floor with a camera lens embedded in his skull. In fact, the people in the corridor were very noisily taking bets on it.

"Poor kid. I feel like I should help him." Helena had apparently been taking walking lessons from a cat; Jack sprang out of his chair and cracked his knee on the underside of the desk.

"Fuck!"

Helena giggled and shoved him, knocking him back down into the seat. "You're an idiot."

"And you're evil. That hurt."

"Ooh, dear. Poor little you." She gave him a careful look. "You all right?"

"What? Yeah," Jack gave her a confused look. "Why?"

"You look different... Happy..." The woman shook her head and laughed. "Hell, never mind me. Come on, it's lunchtime. I'm hungry."

"You actually goin' to the canteen?" Aguirre had supplied his employees with the canteen only so he could cut back their official lunchtimes - therefore the food was notoriously unpleasant, and the only people who ate there either had no tastebuds or had a hell of a lot to do.

"No!" said Helena, fetching Jack's coat. "You are taking me to Tao. I want noodles for lunch."

"I'm takin' you?"

"Yup. I want to discuss the reason you're looking so happy."

"Erk.." Jack tripped over his chair as he stood up. She couldn't know, could she? He wasn't meant to let anyone know!! And he'd already told Christian too... Fuck...

"My sister," said Helena, heading for the door, "Nosy cow. Can't stand her frankly. But she has her uses. Watches her neighbours like a hawk. And now I think I may know things, Jack Twist." She span in the doorway and leant against the doorframe. "Which is why you are buying me lunch."

The man groaned and trudged after her. As he reached the staircase there was the unmistakable sound of a keyboard smacking down onto someone's head, and a cheer went up.

"Come on then! Receipts before I give you the cash! Who bet on the keyboard?"

* * *

Ennis wiped his hands on one of the old rags he kept around the place, and stood back. The car engine in front of him gleamed - he'd spilt oil on it accidentally, when something had reminded him of Jack, and he'd had to clean it off. It kind of gave him a feeling of satisfaction knowing that it was perfect again because of him.

Because of _him_.

It had a nice ring to it, and Ennis liked a compliment now and then.  
_  
Last night, Jack gasping for breath, a stupid grin on his face, eyes barely able to focus on anything but the man who had caused his condition - his expression the nicest compliment the mechanic had ever received. Lying there all exhausted and happy, because of Ennis. _

"Damn..." Now he had to find something to hide behind... Did Jack have to look that hot when he was fucked-out?

Well, yes. But he didn't have to remember it!

Ok, he kinda did.

Highly confused by the commentary occurring in the depths of his own brain, Ennis slammed the car's hood down and peered out of the garage, saved from probable insanity by the purr of an engine. There was an expensive and all-too familiar looking saloon prowling up to the entrance.

From the sound alone, Ennis could hear nothing wrong, but when the car stopped and its owner climbed out he could certainly see something wrong. The man looked terrible.

"Mr. Lachlan?"

Christian blinked repeatedly and nodded in a distracted way. "There's a set of scratches over there." His gesture was so vague the scratches could have been anywhere from the front bumper to six miles down the road.

Ennis took a look around the other side of the Mercedes and knelt down to inspect the damage. The scrapes were deep, gouging into the metal, rather than just skimming the paintwork.

"You musta been goin' at a fair pace when it happened," muttered Ennis, "It'll take a bit to fix."

"No worries." Still looking slightly spaced out, Christian pressed his car keys into Ennis's hands. "Just take it."

"I'll have it back to normal by next week." Ennis retreated from his customer, not liking the new, edgy Christian at all.

"No."

"Well, I can't get it done any sooner," growled Ennis.  


"I mean, take it. Take the car."

Ennis gave Christian a look of polite incomprehension.

"Take the car, sir?"

"Keep the damn thing! I don't want it! Too much hassle!" Every phrase was barked out harshly.

"I can't afford to pay - "

"It's a gift, all right? Just take it. Please." The last word was pitiful, jammed into the conversation by a man rapidly becoming unglued around the edges.

Ennis found a chair that was relatively clean and herded the other man towards it, not wanting to spark anything unpleasant by grabbing his arm. And anyway Christian reeked of alcohol; Ennis didn't need that smell rubbing off on him while there was still half a working day left.

The mechanic scrambled away to get a mug of coffee and came back a few minutes later to find the Bostonian with his head in his hands, looking as miserable as humanly possible. He still took the coffee with a nod of thanks, and then a grimace at the taste.

"Fuck..." He gulped a mouthful of the gritty coffee down. "I am such a screw-up." He looked up at Ennis and, much to the mechanic's surprise, blushed. "Damn. And now I look like a complete idiot." He waved the mug expansively, only just managing not to spill any of the liquid inside. "Take my advice - or maybe don't, cause I'm really pissed right now - if you ever find your teenage daughter trying to open your liquor cabinet, do not give her the key and join her in drinking the entire contents. It's not smart."

Ennis shrugged and turned away uncomfortably. Christian sighed behind him, and there was a clink as he set the mug down. The Bostonian stood up and placed a hand on Ennis's shoulder. The mechanic turned around slightly to meet his client's gaze.

There was a moment's careful silence. Then Christian nodded and stepped back.

"All right. All right. You seem like an honest man, a good guy. I think that'll do."

Ennis frowned in confusion, but said nothing. The coffee might have sobered the other man up a bit, but he was still obviously pretty drunk and was therefore not required to make sense. Christian grinned and turned on his heel, heading for the door.

"Er... Your car, sir!" Ennis yelled after him. "What d'you -?"

Christian didn't stop, but turned around anyway, shoes scuffing backwards on the concrete floor. "I was serious. Keep it. I don't need to remember this day every time I get in my damn car."

And then Ennis was left alone, holding the keys to his new car, and wondering about the kindness of strangers.

* * *

Jack wasn't really at home in a place like Tao. It was very... well, it was very different to most of the places he'd ever eaten in before. Mostly because they were either truckstop cafes, or those horribly plush restaurants that Lureen dragged him into.

But Helena was apparently playing the old blackmail card, and there wasn't anything Jack could do to stop her. Asides from running away.

And now his fellow columnist was giving him a long hard look over the top of her bowl. He shifted awkwardly on his chair, not liking the sudden attention.

"Yeah?" Fine, if she wanted a fucking conversation she could have one. "Somethin' wrong?"

"Your new friend." Only Helena could pour that much suggestion onto that word. Jack gritted his teeth in mild annoyance.

"I ain't really followin' you," he said, "What new friend?"

"The mechanic that lives on Frank Street across the road from my sister." Helena blew on forkful of noodles. "He's hot apparently."

"We're just friends, Helena. _Just friends_." And Jack splashed his words with as much emphasis as he could as well, getting his point across. But because there was something about Ennis's plan for a secret relationship that grated on his nerves he added: "That's all he'll allow us to be."

Helena gave Jack a sympathetic look as she chewed.

He slumped back in his seat, knowing he'd lost completely. "I'm gonna hafta tell you everythin', ain't I?"

She swallowed and nodded. "Yup."

"You can't tell anyone mind."

A roll of the eyes and a grudgingly agreeing shrug replaced words while Helena sucked up a particularly long noodle.

"Fine."

"From the beginning if you please. And in detail. We have an extra hour for lunch today."

"Since when."

"Since I said so. Come on. 'Fess up."


	13. Chapter 12

Life in Bylow continued for three months, and gradually two people's lives fell to pieces.

Ennis Del Mar was, surprisingly, not one of them. He was as happy as he'd ever been - thanks to access to his daughters, good business, a new car and an amazing... friend called Jack Twist. He was so content he kept forgetting to go and ask that weird woman across the road if she could stop spying on him, or to at least be more subtle about it.

He had never been this happy before, and this was maybe why he didn't notice Jack's increasing problems. Jack was stuck with a... friend by the name of Ennis Del Mar who was ashamed of their relationship, an ex-wife who was becoming increasingly involved with her liquor cabinet, a son who was too smart not to notice his mother's alcohol issues, a dying pick-up truck, a best friend (and this one really was only a friend) who had become so distant he was practically on another planet and Randall Malone. Before long a combination of all those things and too much whisky late at night reduced Jack to a wreck. It was all he could do to force himself to go to work, where he would slump at his desk for about seven hours and then trek back home again.

The only time he really came to life was when he visited Ennis, but even that had its bad points. Apart from the rather obvious having to leave at some point, there was also seeing Helena's sister peering through her curtains and remembering how he'd broken his promise to Ennis. What would happen when the mechanic found out? - it was clearly a case of 'when' and not 'if'; it always was with Jack. Would Ennis kick his lover out, or give up with his charade?

Even if it was a 50/50 chance of a non-secret _and_ fulfilling relationship, Jack didn't really want to take the risk. Losing Ennis on top of all the other shit that was happening to him would be too much.

What he needed was to have someone to talk to about it, but Christian was somewhere else entirely. He'd taken two weeks off work, registered Meggie at the high school, spent many a night talking with social workers and lawyers, and come back to the _Reporter_ still the same cool, calm and collected person to everyone else but a bundle of twitchy nerves to Jack.

Or he _would_ have seemed like a bundle of twitchy nerves to Jack, but everyone was so wrapped up in their own problems they didn't have time for anyone else and that was designed to cause trouble.

Jack drove into the carpark late, as usual. He was half way across the road when he stopped and turned back to look at the parking space beside his own. It was Christian's, and that was where the Mercedes should have been, but instead there was a silver Cadillac instead. Jack couldn't remember ever seeing that car before; although he couldn't recall seeing the Merc for a while either. Deeply confused he continued on his way.

Christian was at his desk, fingers tapping laptop keys lightly, when Jack took his hat off and sat down.

"You get a new car?" Jack had not spoken to Christian in four days, and the man jumped as though 

he'd been shocked.

"What?"

"The Cadillac? You sell your Mercedes?"

"Oh, no. I gave it away." A brief look of pain passed across Christian's face, but Jack didn't notice.

"Gave it away? Why?"

"Just needed a fresh start. Anyway, that was three months back."

"Jack frowned. "Really?"

"Yes." Christian looked down at the computer screen and sighed. "Fuck. I'm getting nowhere with this."

"Well, neither am I," muttered Jack sharply, shuffling through some of the discarded papers on his desk.

"I was talking about my life in general, not my column," growled Christian bad-temperedly.

"So was I." Jack glared at the Bostonian, as though daring him to make a comment. "D'you think I'm happy with my lot? Do I look bloody happy to you?"

Christian said nothing. But a voice behind Jack oozed, "I think you look absolutely radiant."

"Whatever, Randall." And in that second all the fight left the rodeo cowboy. Why was he bothering? What fucking difference would it make?

"Don't worry," said the reporter cheerfully, "We've got a few games we need to talk about. And I've got to head to the Bandits' game in Derton on Monday. You can come with if you want."

"Oh. Thanks..."

"I thought I'd warn you now, so you'd have the weekend to, you know, pretty yourself up." Randall patted Jack's head. "Thought you'd appreciate it." And with that he bustled off to accost the editor.

Jack dropped his head to the desk, his forehead bouncing off the thick layer of papers. Across the table Christian leant back in his chair and stared blankly at the ceiling.

"Jesus..." he muttered eventually. "Jack..." He dropped his gaze to his friend. "I'm sorry about this. I wish I could've persuaded Aguirre to stick him with some other poor bastard."

Jack mumbled something unintelligible and raised his head enough to peer cautiously at the Bostonian. "You tried. That's enough. I can cope anyway. Randall's not really all that bad."

"Mmhmm?" A quirk of an eyebrow told Jack how believable his lie was.

"Can't you even pretend to believe me?"

"Think up a better lie and I'll think about trying."

A faint smile ghosted Jack's lips as he sat up properly. "You really change your car three months ago?"

Christian tilted his head in confusion. "Yes, I thought we'd gone over this. Why?"

"Means I haven't been payin' enough attention."

"I don't think anyone's been paying enough attention," said the Bostonian, "We've all been a bit wrapped up in our own issues lately, I think." He stood up. "I suggest we go for a walk to clear our heads and catch up a bit."

"Maybe you can help me figure out how I can avoid goin' to Derton with Randall too," laughed Jack, grabbing his hat and following Christian.

"I already have five ways."

"How many of them involve shootin' out his tyres?"

"None until now. That makes it six. And I was planning on using implements of a sharp and dangerous nature."

"What, like an ice-pick or somethin'?"

"No, but it's an idea. So, seven ways now."

A walk in the morning sun with his best friend and a conversation that vaguely acknowledged the real issues but avoided dealing with them was not exactly what Jack needed right then, but it was as close as he was ever going to get.

* * *

Three months had been more than enough time for Ennis to clear his garage out and store the Mercedes inside it. He didn't know why he didn't want Jack finding out about the car. Probably because he'd have to admit what kind of a state Christian had been in when he gave the damn thing to him; and Ennis wasn't sure if the Bostonian would appreciate Jack knowing. They obviously knew each other, after all Christian had recommended Ennis as a mechanic.  


"Next time I see him, I'll have to shake his hand," muttered Ennis to himself. He was lying on the sofa, limbs tangled up with Jack's as the columnist slept on his chest.

"Wha'?" Jack peered up at his lover. "You say somethin'?"

"Just thinkin' aloud." Ennis extracted an arm to rub at his face. and then wrapped it around Jack's shoulders. "Just go back to sleep, rodeo."

Jack shifted around a bit and then sighed. "No. I need to talk to you 'bout somethin'." He sat up carefully. Ennis narrowed his eyes in suspicion but said nothing.

"Look, I was talkin' to one of my friends today at work. Bout the last three months, and how... how things weren't goin' the best for alla us."

Ennis frowned. "Whadya mean? Not goin' the best? Don't you like bein' with me?"

"I do! I do, En." Jack leaned across and planted a gentle kiss on Ennis's cheek, trying to reassure him. "But... There's a point there, y'know. I got problems with that Randall guy I was tellin' you about, and my ex-wife's gettin' a bit screwed up and that friend I was talkin' to? Well, I had barely spoke to him in a week. Times past when the longest I'd go without speaking to him was 'bout half an hour."

"Well, there ain't nothin' I can really do to help you there, bud." The mechanic sat up too, still glaring at Jack. "What else you talk 'bout with this friend of yours?"

The look of guilt on Jack's face was enough of an answer. Ennis sprang to his feet.

"Goddamn it, Jack!! What did I tell you?! Can't tell no one bout us! And then you go and pull this crap!"

"I'd already told him..."

"_What...?!_"

"When this first started. I told him." Jack sighed. "I didn't mean to. It just kinda happened. Anyway, he woulda found out. Christian's like that."

"Christian?" His rage subsiding to a gentle bubbling of anger in his chest.

"Yeah." Jack looked up. "Please, Ennis. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, really. Christian wouldn't tell a soul anyway; I asked him not to."

"That it? You done now?" spat Ennis coldly. Jack's apology had twanged some heart strings, but the worry of being found out was too great. "Is this all you have to tell me? The reason you've been so miserable?"  


"Not all of it," mumbled Jack. "This secret thing, En? It's not gonna work. I can't live like this. I don't do secrets well."

"Yeah, I kinda guessed that bit," growled the mechanic, "Well, tough. This is how it's gonna be, or it ain't gonna be at all. Sometimes you just have to ride it out."

Jack lowered his head again. "But I can't. Please, darlin'."

"No."

"But -"

"Either learn to deal with it, or leave."

"En -"

"You know I ain't changin' my mind." Ennis crossed his arms.

"Neither am I," sighed Jack. He stood up, moving awkwardly, as though he was in pain. "I'll just..."

He snagged his coat from where he had dumped it on the floor. He reached the door, and turned back. Ennis was watching once more.

"You ain't gonna stop me?" Jack whispered.

"Can't risk it, rodeo," said Ennis. "My daughters, my job... I don't want to lose you, but I _can't _lose them."

And with that Jack left.


	14. Chapter 13

Blank.

Just blank.

Jack couldn't feel anything as he steered his truck through the town. Everything on the outside was fuzzy and separate, and there, inside the cab, was his own little pool of... of... well, nothing.

He wasn't sure where he was going, why he was going there or whether he was driving lawfully or not. He didn't care.

Ennis had thrown him out.

It didn't hurt like he expected it to, but then, he didn't really believe it had happened. Waiting to wake up, tangled in the bedsheets and sweating from the horror.

He waited a few seconds in the childish hope it all was a nightmare- minutes maybe? time wasn't passing the way it normally did - but no luck. He was still there, partially slumped against the window, clutching at the steering wheel as a vain attempt to hold on. Tears were spilling down his face, blurring his vision, and the back of his throat burned with the effort of holding back sobs.

Jack didn't make a sound until he drew up outside his house and crept inside.

He sighed.

The urge to sob was leaving, apparently expelled with his breath. But the curiously empty feeling remained, like he'd been broken and hollowed out. He couldn't think of what to do anymore, couldn't think of anything except Ennis's face as the mechanic watched him leave.

"Sonovabitch," he whispered, but his heart wasn't in it.

Another image slid into his brain - Christian's vague smile as he flicked Ennis's name and number across the table.

"Sonovabitch..." He tried again, and this time he got some feeling into it.

* * *

"You're blaming me?!"

"You can think of anyone else?!"

Christian posed theatrically, pretending to think; sharp movements the indicator of his anger. "Well... You, maybe?"

Jack snorted. "Of course, it's always me. But you fuckin' know that! You let me carry on like that! You damn well knew how it would turn out!"

"Excuse me for wanting you to get your car fixed! And for hoping against all past experiences and bloody obvious fact that you'd finally found the right guy!" He leant forward over his desk, slamming his palm to the laminated wood. "Damn it, Jack! Just stop it!"

In retrospect maybe the _Reporter_ office wasn't the best place to have accused Christian of making his life miserable but right now Jack didn't care at all. He was damn well right, and he was going to prove it. The other employees were still talking away, albeit in slightly more nervous tones than usual, eyeing the two men as they squared up behind their table. Helena was slumped in a chair a few desks away, head in her hands - Jack having thoroughly cursed her out for ever mentioning Ennis, for being so damned nosy and even for being related to her sister. Nearby Randall was slinking around, watching the argument carefully.

"If you hadn't given me his number I wouldn't have ever met him," he snarled, "I wouldn't have fallen in love and I wouldn't have had my heart broke!"

"Get over yourself and stop being so over-dramatic. What would have happened is that you would have spent the rest of your life bouncing from meaningless relationship to meaningless relationship. You wouldn't have been happy at all!"

"You think I'm happy now?"

" When you were with him, you were though, weren't you?"

"And now I'm not! It's woulda been better to just not have known!"

"That would be the most miserable existence known to man!"

Jack shook his head. "This one is."

Christian gave him a slow, weary look and sank into his chair. "Whatever, Jack. Do whatever you want. Blame me or forgive me as an innocent bystander. Do whatever you want, because no matter what advice I give you, you'll just go your own way and come right back to yell at me at the end."

Jack stared at the other man for a few moments and then shook his head. "No. No. I ain't fallin' for that shit. You ain't gonna make me feel guilty. That ain't fair, Christian." His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, pain evident in his features. "Don't you think I feel bad enough?"

The other man shrugged, eyes fixed down on the desk in front of him. Jack was still vibrating with anger, desperate to do _something_, like lash out and make someone else feel just how _goddamn miserable _he was.

But no... That wouldn't work would it? Thumping people rarely made Jack feel better. But there was one thing he could do to make the Bostonian feel a little bit worse.

Randall.

Guilt-trip central right there.

The man in question had snuck closer to the argument and had been eyeing Jack's ass appreciatively. He snapped back into a postion of severe nonchalance when Jack span around.

"When's that game we gotta go to again, Randall?"

"Monday." The sports reporter looked dreadfully smug. Behind Jack, Christian had raised his gaze to stare at the two men in horror.  


"Yeah, you told me that yesterday," growled Jack, just managing not to add the words 'you idiot' to the sentence. "What _time_?"

"Starts at three, but I need to be there early, so we'd have to leave at about noon." Randall's expression indicated that was allowing a little extra time for something other than pre-game interviews.

Jack nodded. "Fair enough. You know where I live?"

"Where you live...?" Now Randall sounded as if his favourite dream was just about to come true.

"Yeah. You're gonna pick me up, yeah?" Jack braced himself; hating the words he was about to say, but needing to say them just to shock Christian and Helena a little bit more. "I need to get ready sure." He scribbled his address down on one ofhis many scraps of paper and handed it over, brushing his fingertips over Randall's in a way that made Christian whisper "Oh my dear god." behind them.

When Randall had tottered off, the columnist turned back around to see the look of shock on Christian's face.

"You... are... so completely fucked in the head," muttered the older man slowly. He shook his head and let out a bark of laughter as though he couldn't believe it. "So totally, completely and utterly fucking crazy."

Jack sneered slightly and snatched his coat up. "I might as well," he spat, "Since he's the only one that actually wants me."

He stalked out.

* * *

Being the oldest daughter of her divided family meant Alma Junior Del Mar had grown up fast, if only because while her parents were arguing they had tended to forget their youngest needed feeding and had stormed out a fair amount. So now she was doing her famed impression of a stable, content teenager being happily self-absorbed, while actually being a worried and discontented teenager watching her father mope around.

He was miserable, she could see that, for all the fake smiles he plastered on his face. This was odd, because only last weekend he'd been happier than she'd seen him in years. There had been three months in which Ennis had reverted back to a cheery, playful soul.

And now he wasn't anymore.

This presented a problem because if she asked him what was wrong now her father would simply grunt 'nothing' and wave her away. Junior really doubted it would get better if he didn't talk to someone about it, and as far as she knew he had no friends at all.

She sighed in frustration and stomped across the garage floor to extricate Francie from a gutted car. The little girl was bouncing excitedly on the driver's seat, jabbering madly into something she had held tightly to her face. Junior grabbed her sister, towed her across to the office and dropped her on the new sofa (she'd never found out what happened to the old one).

"Look, Juny!" Francie waved the thing she had been talking into frantically. "Dad's got a phone!"

Junior snatched at it. A brief scuffle ensued that resulted in Francie running to her father and Junior sprawled on the floor with a bruised cheek, a bitemark on her arm and a mobile phone in her hand. It was rather new, stylish and expensive looking, the type of thing Junior wouldn't mind for herself - in other words the type of thing he father definitely would not buy.

The battery was dead too; no matter how many times she pressed the on button the screen stayed dark.

While she was peering at the battery connection and wondering if she could attach her own charger to it, Ennis slammed the door open.

"You better not have been fightin' with Francie."

"She was playin' with somethin' she shouldn't have, dad," replied Junior, swiftly secreting the phone behind her back. "She wouldn't give it up."

"All righ'. Just cause I'd expect you to know better than - "

"To fight with my little sister," finished the teenager. "_Yes_, dad. I know."

He glared at her but slammed the door shut again and went back to work. Junior relaxed and slipped the phone into her bag. The way she saw it was if it was Ennis's there might be some clue as to the rapid swing from happy to sad. And if it wasn't there might be a reward in it for finding it. It couldn't be said Junior wasn't a financially practical girl.

Several miles away Jack Twist tried, for the umpteenth time in three months, to figure out where the hell he had left his phone.


	15. Chapter 14

After an hour of arguing with her mother about how Ennis was doing over the phone – Alma always insisted on calling every weekend, on the off chance she'd find out something to hold against the mechanic - Junior retreated to her poky bedroom and began searching for her phone charger. She found it buried in her sock drawer, for some inexplicable reason, and attached it to the mobile she had found in her father's garage.

Thankfully, it took only a few minutes for the battery to gain enough energy to switch on, and Junior was set upon by what appeared to be hundreds of unread text messages and missed calls. The numbers for the missed calls mainly belonged to someone who was apparently called 'Christian', and he had seemed pretty determined to get a hold of whoever owned the phone.

As it turned out most of the messages were from this Christian person as well, though a few were from someone called 'Helena'. Junior chose one at random and read 'for the love of god, pick up the damn phone already!' The next read basically the same, but with slightly more swearing, and this established itself into a pattern swiftly. The latest message consisted of little but curse words, and a rather unpleasant looking but thankfully untranslatable set of symbols.

Junior began looking through the other files until she found what she had been looking for – personal details. Rather unfortunately the owner had apparently never learnt that it was easier to return missing things to someone if you know who that someone was, and had neglected to fill in his name or address or anything at all.

Well there really wasn't much else to do was there? This Christian person was obviously very close to the phone's owner, so it would make sense to call them and tell them the phone had been found. Of course this would leave her open to a severe yelling at, but Junior was in a stubbornly curious mood.

She dialed the number and started when a quiet voice on the other end said "Hello?"

"Er…" Junior kicked herself for being so nervous; she was returning a piece of lost property after all, she wasn't to blame for anything. "Is this Christian?"

"Yes." The man was clearly not one for small talk. "And you are?"

"Someone who found your friend's phone," she said, not liking the way she was being talked to.

"How kind," drawled the man. "Is this conversation going anywhere? I have someone to talk out of doing something stupid."

"I wanted to know if you knew Ennis Del Mar."

There was a long silence on the other end. Junior had begun to wonder if Christian had hung up when he spoke again. "I am aware of his existence." His tone had gone icy cold.

"How?" Junior was becoming increasingly aware of how far she was pushing her luck. There was only one person named Christian she could think of in Bylow, and the newest set of teenaged rumours said that he was a mob boss or something.

"He was my mechanic," muttered Christian. "Why do you care?"

"I'm still asking questions here!" Emboldened by the lack of people in her direct vicinity, Junior went for broke. "Do you know if something happened to him recently? Like debts, or a break-up, or anything that would make him miserable?"

"I could hang-up on you, you know," said Christian, but his tone had warmed to mild curiousity. He clearly wanted to know who was talking to him like this.

"You can after you answer the question."

"That's nice of you. And yes, something happened."

"What?"

"Break-up. A bad one, presumably. Considering it was entirely his fault though, he deserves every moment of misery coming to him."

Junior bridled at that. "Hey, watch it!"

Christian chuckled; a sound that would have been pleasant had the man just not insulted Junior's father. "You sound young, my dear. And the language skills of teenagers nowadays are often doubtful at best. So tell me, have you heard of the phrase 'closet case'?"

* * *

Junior rather purposefully left the phone in her dad's new car when he drove them home that Sunday morning.

* * *

By Sunday evening Jack would have managed to work himself into a state of panicked dread had he not been drinking that entire day. As it was he had only managed a low-level, dully accepting horror.

He was going to have to do this – he was going to have to do Randall – and then that would be it. He'd be able to guilt Christian into anything he wanted.

Jack had never felt like so much of a bastard in his life.

Well, there was the time he cheated on Lureen with that handsome rancher with the huge SUV – which Jack only remembered because he spent a lot of time in it, sucking the man's not so huge dick. 

Or when his mama found out he was gay, which had been especially bad because she had_ found_ him with Jimmy Hewlett in the stable. Doing something a little more explicit than making out, which was how Jack always felt that she should have found them, not on his hands and knees with the chiselled featured and red-haired Jimmy very busy indeed behind him. Or there was that time when he'd managed to two-time four guys at once, which had been an interesting few months until he woke up in the hospital with a broken jaw and a set of cracked ribs.

Ok, he'd done a lot of crap. And that train of thought had not made him feel better at all.

Oh, and the whisky was almost gone.

The columnist drained the rest of the bottle and looked up at the clock. It was midnight, and that meant he had only about twelve hours to back out.

He trudged to his bed, stripped (leaving his clothes on the floor to trip over in the morning) and curled up amongst the sheets, wishing his life could be easy for once.

Morning came much too quickly for Jack's tastes. Before long he was sitting at the kitchen table, freshly showered and nursing a hangover.

The phone rang. After looking at it suspiciously for a few moments, he answered it.

It was Helena. "Jack, please don't do th-"

He hung up on her.

Half an hour later it rang again.

It turned out to be Christian this time. He managed to get out "You don't have to do this, Jack." before the ex-cowboy slammed the receiver down.

When it rang again fifteen minutes before Randall was due to arrive Jack decided to give whoever was calling one last chance.

"¿Hola?" Apparently Helena was setting her relatives on him now. Jack apologised in his best Spanish and hung up. At least Christian had no one to enlist to the 'stop Jack Twist fucking his life up' brigade. Three cheers for the man with the useless family!

Randall's pick-up drew up outside at twelve on the dot and beeped its horn. Jack took a shaky gulp of vodka he'd discovered at the back of a cupboard to use as a replacement for common sense, grabbed his wallet – which contained condoms, because a sleazy bastard like Randall Malone would never have some on him – and went out to suffer his way through what could possibly be the worst day of his life.

* * *

Of course, Randall was all listening and caution at the start. Jack had expected that; he knew how to play the getting laid game himself. But as the drive took them further and further out of Bylow, the sports reporter became a touch more personal, and before Jack knew it, there was a sweaty paw of a hand resting very comfortably on his thigh.

Now was not the best time to get cold feet, Jack knew, but listening to Randall drone on and on about previous lovers, with the details getting more and more explicit, was making him want to jump out of the window.

He settled for staring at the wing mirrors forlornly, watching the little grey shape of another car on the horizon behind them. It occurred to him that the car either had to be travelling at the exact same speed as them, or was staying a carefully considered distance away so the driver could still see them but not arouse suspicion.

It was then Randall made a very ill-calculated move, his hand slipping sideways from Jack's thigh. The columnist was totally lost in his own little world, and the movement startled him seriously.

He didn't mean to lash out and strike Randall hard on the temple, knocking the man cold, but it happened. And he _really_ didn't mean to do it where the road was lined with a deep ditch that was very easy to crash straight into.


	16. Chapter 15

"Surprisingly this isn't too bad. I always thought hospital food was supposed to be revolting." Pause. "Oh, wait, wait, urgh, ok that bit's disgusting. Oh, god, that's horrible."

Jack opened his eyes and let his head drop to the side, peering through puffy eyelids at the figure beside his bed.

"How long... have you been… mutterin' to yourself?"

"Enough time for three nurses to have called security to make sure I wasn't a crazy person." Christian set the plate aside and leant forward. "How are you feeling?

"Like shit."

"Good; it's everything you deserve frankly. And maybe a bit more."

"Maybe?"

"Yeah, still undecided on that. Incidentally, no apologies are going to be accepted until you're off the painkillers."

"Bite me."

Christian laughed and slumped back in his chair. "Glad to see that that blow to your head hasn't diminished your charm."

"I'm stickin' with my first response."

"Hmmph."

The man stood up and loomed over Jack, peering at the various tubes and bags connected to his friend. "Nurse?"

"Nurse with many, many drugs."

"Your wish is my command." Christian turned away and headed for the door. "These nurses are hard to find, so I may be some time."

"Thank you, Captain Oates."

"Shut up and concentrate on fixing your bones."

"Aye aye."

Christian opened the door a crack and slid out like some sort of creepy centipede thing. Jack rolled his eyes and called after him, "Stop with the special forces shit!"

A ruffled head reappeared around the frame. "Shut up, get better and, anyway, I was a pilot." He vanished again and Jack grinned to himself, the drugs not faded enough yet to allow to the pain to dull his good mood. There was gossip! Helena _would_ be happy…

And everything slipped back down to black.

* * *

Ennis was lacking any customers – again – and had fallen back to valet duties on his own car. He was fucking bored.

He hauled the passenger's side floor mat out and yelped – in a very manly way, thank you _very much_ – when something flew out, smacked him in the forehead and clattered to the garage floor.

"Fuckin' hell," he dropped the floor mat and scrabbled under his truck for whatever had attacked him. Considering the fact that Christian Lachlan, who had given him the car, was a bit, well, dodgy frankly, he wouldn't have been surprised if it was a grenade or something.

What he located under the truck was certainly black and kind of grenade shaped. He peered at it suspiciously. All right, it wasn't really that grenade shaped.

In fact it looked a lot like one of the more stylish phones that Junior kept bugging him to buy.

Making a resigned sort of noise because this would mean he'd have to call Lachlan to tell him he'd found the damn thing, he trudged to his office and dropped it on the table. He had floor mats to clean – he'd call the man later.

* * *

"Jesus Christ, the guy's pale."

"Is he?" A newspaper crinkled somewhere to the right, and someone snorted. "I've seen worse."

"He's pale for someone who's still living," spat the first speaker – through a pleasantly druggy haze, Jack recognized Helena's lack of patience with anything over 6 foot tall, ruggedly handsome and horrendously rich.

"All right, all right." The paper scrunched again as the person who had to be Christian retreated behind it. "Keep your knickers on."

"You stay away from the topic of my underwear!"

The Bostonian sighed. "Is there any point in you being here?"

"He's my friend and he almost died!"

"He did not almost die. He just got knocked out and broke a few bones and collected an impressive set of bruises. I'm sure he got worse when he was bull-riding."

"The point is that he _could_ have!"

"But he _didn't_."

"_Christian!!"_

"Even that bastard Randall got away with a concussion and a broken arm."

"Lord, you're just insufferable sometimes!"

"Listen to yourself once in a while and then call me insufferable."

Jack opened bleary eyes and coughed as loudly as he though his ribs could take to interrupt the impending argument. Helena dashed to his side immediately, fussing and cooing. Christian made a disgusted sound and mimed throwing up into the wastebasket. The injured man rolled his eyes in a gesture more typical of his friend and set about trying to shoo Helena away.

"'M fine. Calm down." He waved the arm that felt as though a small bull had stood on it – in preference to the one which felt as though someone had parked a truck on – and shuddered when pain surfed down from his shoulders.

"Idiot," muttered Christian. He pointed at the remote on the bedside table. "Press the nurse button before the crazy bastard can do himself more harm."

Despite Jack's denials of crazy bastard-hood, Helena prodded the button several times in quick succession and then went to lurk as far away from Christian as she could when the nurse bustled in.

"I don't think I like you," Jack muttered when the woman had finished her poking and shifting and general annoyances. She grinned at him anyway and turned up one of his drips.

"You're too handsome to take offence at, sir," she smiled, tugging his sheets up further.

"'ll try hard'r."

The nurse turned to Christian and Helena once Jack was firmly unconscious again. "The doctor will be doing the rounds in a couple of hours. I'll be sure to mention the pain levels."

They chorused their thanks as the nurse left and then went right back to glaring at each other.

* * *

Three days later Jack was feeling up to separating his two friends every time they started an argument. Which was about every fifteen minutes, because they were apparently fine when they were a fair distance away from each other, but bring them into close contact and it was like repeatedly lighting a fuse.

After the twentieth time, Jack swore at them to shut the _fuck_ up or he'd call the nurse to get them both kicked out. Helena and Christian fell into a sullen silence, purposefully staring at different corners of the room.

"She started it," muttered Christian after a while.

Helena stared at him. "Oh, I did not! Jack, I did not!"

Jack burst into hysterical fits of laughter at that, gripping his aching ribs and gasping for breath. It was infectious, seconds later Helena started to giggle madly and Christian did that odd silent laughing thing that finally erupted into deep chuckles when he couldn't hold it anymore.

"Christ, what age are we?" wheezed Helena when she got her breath back. "Bickering like school girls while he's lying there all injured and crap."

The Bostonian rolled his eyes and grinned, "I think we can safely say that we generally suck at being friends with people, yes?"

"Very much yes." Helena stood up. "Look, I'm gonna go get a drink. Either of you idiots want anything?"

Jack did the complicated shrug of the hospital patient with the restricted diet who would like nothing more than an ice cold bottle of soda with unbelievably high numbers of additives. The woman twitched at eyebrow at him in despair, and looked back at Christian.

"I'll cope just fine without, thank you."

"Whatever." Helena grabbed her bag and left.

Jack waited until he was sure she was gone and then glanced across at Christian, who was doing his elegant slump thing on a very uncomfortable looking chair. "What the hell was that?"

The man shrugged amiably. "God's way of telling us we're all crazy?"

This was met with due consideration. "Fair enough. But I resent the implication that I'm insane just 'cause the two of you are immature."

"And I resent the implication that I'm immature," said Christian, still smiling. "Because I'll have you know I'm very sensible."

Jack gave him a look.

"Well. I try to be sometimes. That's got to count for something."

"I wonder why the hell I try," sighed the columnist, sinking back into his pillows. He glanced over at the vague region of his friend again – Christian had slouched so low in his chair he was completely obscured by the board at the foot of Jack's bed. "Do you hear that noise?"

"What?" The Bostonian paused, and then hauled his phone out of his trouser pocket. "Huh." He sat up properly and gestured towards the little balcony outside Jack's room. "I'll just take this out there, ok?"

Jack watched him carefully as he slid the glass door open and shut with more force than was actually necessary and then flick his phone open with a particularly violent snap of his wrist. Someone was in for a chewing out for sure.

Christian was still snarling at the mystery caller when Helena came back in. She peered out the window and gave Jack the 'I sense gossip' look she had long since perfected.

"No idea," he said truthfully, "But I don't think he likes them."

"You're telling me." Helena made a face as Christian almost slammed the phone shut – as much as someone could slam a few grams of plastic. "Someone unpleasant?" she asked him when he did the weird special forces door opening trick again and slid through a gap a spider would have problems getting through.

"Not unpleasant _per se,_ but certainly not among my favourite of people right now." He grabbed his coat from a chair. "Look I have to go ok? I think I'd like to deal with this person face to face before I forget all the cutting remarks I came up with out there." He nodded to Helena, smiled at Jack and was out the door before either of the two of them could say another word.

"He's not all that bad when you think about it," said Helena thoughtfully, after a few moments, "But he's still strange."

Jack could only agree.

* * *

His day had almost been perfect, actually. The garage had gotten a new coat of paint, and every centimeter inside and out of the big Mercedes now gleamed like it had just driven out of an advertisement.

Then things went downhill swiftly.

"There are so many things I could blame on you right now." The voice was steely and cold. Ennis has dropped the spanner he had been polishing to stare at the man who was leaning against the German saloon's flank.

"Well, it ain't my fault if you left your phone in your car," growled Ennis, not entirely understanding what was being said but not liking the tone it was being said in anyway.

"My phone?" Christian made a despairing gesture and tugged a slim-line black oblong from a pocket. "Is right here. I honestly don't know what the hell you were babbling on about earlier, I really don't. But that's inconsequential; I'm here to talk about Jack Twist."

"Me and Jack have already sorted everythin' out," Ennis ground out.

Christian snorted in response. "Why don't I believe that?" He looked down at the phone in his hand and paused, before swiftly dialling a number.

He didn't even look surprised when a cheesy country and western tune belted out in response from inside Ennis's office. He just looked back across at the mechanic and narrowed his eyes. "That's about thirty more things I'm blaming on you now."

"I don't understand what the hell you're talkin' about." Ennis glanced at the other man, trying to size him up in case push came to shove or more likely in case push came to assault with a miscellaneous engine component.

The Bostonian straightened up and pulled a frustrated pose; face upturned and eyes to heaven as if praying for patience. "Tell me something, ok? I've just got to make sure. What is your job exactly?"

Ennis stared at him, confused beyond belief. What the _hell? _Was the man simple or something? "Mechanic," he answered in a flat and dull tone, suspecting something unpleasant was about to occur.

"Really? Well, that's all right then." The man shoved his hands in his pockets and scuffed the ground with his heels innocently.

"Why?"

"Oh." Christian smiled pleasantly and shrugged. "It's just that for a moment I could have sworn you made your living by being a-" His voice dropped to a lower register and the smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "- complete and utter _asshole_."

Momentarily stunned by the effrontery of what the other man had just said, in Ennis's own garage, the mechanic was silent. He regained his tongue and snarled out the only reply he could think of. "If you wanna stay one of my customers you better keep a civil tongue in your head." He stepped forward and bunched his hands into fists, growling. The sight was enough to make most men slink away.

Christian merely sneered. "You think you can afford to lose me, Ennis? You won the lottery or something?" A horribly disagreeable shadow appeared over his features. "Or are you just sick of seeing you daughters every weekend?"

"How'd you-?" Ennis spluttered for a second before his expression hardened again. "Get out."

"If you insist." Christian gave him an ironic salute and span on his heel to stalk out.

But at the door he paused and half turned back.

"I may regret this you know," he said in a voice Ennis had to strain to hear, "But in the eventuality you get your head out of your ass – he's in the hospital, third floor, room 142."

"_Hospital_!?" yelped Ennis, momentarily forgetting the fact he wasn't meant to be caring about Jack.

"Yup. He was in a car crash. I'm guessing since you broke up with him you've stopped reading the _Reporter_? 'Cause I did the article on it there, and the _Advertiser_ was too busy maligning the mayor to bother about proper news. As usual." Christian shrugged and began to walk off again. "Remember Room 142."

Ennis stood there in the middle of his garage, with nothing to do but stare miserably at the floor and think about his last mistake and his next move.


	17. Chapter 16

It hadn't taken long for Ennis to persuade Junior to practice her cookery skills on a trio of chicken fillets, especially when he had the threat of McDonalds for the second weekend in a row to wield.

Bleating something about grease and fat and _dad, heart-attacks aren't fun! _she had fled to the kitchen and set to work. Ennis slumped on the sofa beside Francie and pretended to be interested in some really weird sci-fi show the girls loved. It was turned up extra-loud so Junior could hear it while she attempted to figure out her father's old cooker, and Ennis could barely hear himself think.

Christ. Jack was in _hospital_. He was hurt or sick. Hell, it could be serious for all Ennis knew. Unbidden images of all the accidents he'd even seen in person started popping into his head. He tried to focus on the TV, where an obnoxious man was rattling off strings of words with considerably more syllables than Ennis was used to. It worked, for about three seconds, until someone made a doom-laden discovery and the camera panned in on the obnoxious man's face, and Ennis twitched, because the last time he'd seen blue eyes like those was...

Jack.

_Jesus_. Ennis thumped his head back against the sofa, squeezing his eyes closed and hissing out a swear under his breath.

"Momma says that's a bad word," announced Francie, with the carefree air of someone who suddenly has leverage.

"I'll buy you a Kit Kat, tomorrow." Ennis didn't open his eyes. "Damn. I gotta make a call." He added to no one in particular, struggling up off the low seat.

He scuttled to the phone table in the hall and hauled the Bylow phonebook out from underneath it. A few seconds of fumbling through pages found the hospital's number, and he dialled with suddenly shaky fingers.

While he waited for someone to pick up, he began to anxiously pace as far as the phone cord would let him, trying to will the tremors out of his body.

"Good evening. This is the reception at Bylow Hospital. May I help you?"

Ennis started at the sound of the woman's voice. "Er. Yeah. Er. One of my friends was in an accident a while ago, and I was wonderin' after him."

"His name?"

"Jack Twist." He cleared his throat nervously.

"Uh-huh. And yours, sir? I can't give out details to unknowns, I'm afraid."

"Ennis Del Mar." Inwardly, he swore. She'd look up a list of family and friends, no doubt, and he wouldn't be on it. If he wanted to find out about Jack, he'd probably end up having to go to the damn hospital.

There was an industrious typing from the other end of the line and the receptionist said, "Oh, there you are. Your name only got added yesterday. Good timing, huh?"

"I was _added_?" This was news.

"Yes. Mr. Lachlan requested it."

"Oh." Ennis was really beginning to despise the way that man was always one step ahead of him.

"Mr. Twist has a mild concussion and a number of broken bones, plus some serious bruising, but he's due to be released on Wednesday."

"Oh, right. That's good. Thank you, ma'am." He ignored the woman's tinny giggle at his old-world politeness and hung up sharply in a show of new age rudeness.

Well, that was all right then. Jack was ok in the grand scheme of things. Nothing had gone seriously wrong.

He sighed and ran both hands through his hair. He really needed a drink.

The beer he liberated from the fridge did little to aid his deliberations, mostly because he downed it in three desperate gulps, but it did give him a reason to lean against the sink and stare out the window blankly. He set the empty bottle on the counter and fetched another, sipping it more conservatively.

The cooker was humming away to itself in its corner as it heated up – Junior had disappeared from the room. He crossed over to check she hadn't left anything to burst into flames in her absence and then traipsed into the living room.

Both his daughters were perched on the sofa, and Junior was watching the screen raptly, giggling like she'd lost her mind. Ennis couldn't honestly see what was so hilarious – as far as he could tell, the scene was meant to be poignant and emotional. The two men – the obnoxious guy from before, and some important military character – were discussing something in low, pained voices. There was talk of sacrifice to save someone. Then the obnoxious guy said his friend's name, pleading with him, and Junior burst into cackling laughter.

Ennis stared at her, wondering absently if Bylow Hospital took mental patients, and then asked, "What're you laughin' about?"

"Dad!" Junior stopped laughing abruptly, and flushed. "What? Nothing!"

He watched her flutter about, embarrassed, for a minute more and raised an eyebrow when she next looked at him.

"It's nothing, just an in-joke."

"About some guy saying his friend's name?"

"No, it's just..." She paused, waving a hand in the universal gesture for 'you know'. "There's just... I mean, it's not canon or anything, but if you watch it with the right mindset, there's this really obvious subtext thing going on. But it's only noticeable if you ship the right people..."

Ennis was able to finish his beer in the time it took Junior to thoroughly explain whatever she had been giggling about. Frankly, he had been lost since she said the word 'ship', and had spent the rest of the time wondering what the hell boats had to do with sci-fi.

"What?" he asked, once the flow of words had faded away.

Junior looked frustrated. "Those two guys? Well, there's, like, a whole load of things they say and do to each other that would make you think they're a bit closer than friends."

"Those two guys?" repeated Ennis.

She stuck her chin out stubbornly. "I think it's kinda sweet."

"Two _guys_?" He said again, blankly. He did not just hear his daughter say a pair of gay men were sweet. There was no way he just heard that.

"It happens, dad," she shrugged, getting up and slipping past him into the kitchen. "There ain't nothing wrong with it."

Ennis managed a quiet 'oh' and sat down heavily on the seat Junior had just vacated. He paused, and then smiled. The choice he knew he had to make had just got that little bit easier.

* * *

The next afternoon Jack was in two minds about something. He knew, since he'd be getting out of the hospital in a few days, that they were lowering the amount of drugs he was on. Therefore, life would be gradually losing that odd yet interesting edge that had permeated his stay so far.

But, when he woke up after a swift midday nap, he wasn't quite sure that his dosage was getting any lower. Things were still very, very strange.

It wasn't because of the fact that Helena and Christian were talking to each other like they were both civilised people. He'd gotten used to that. It was just that the conversation they were having was rather odd in itself. It probably didn't help he'd zoned in during the middle of it either. He lay there, eyes closed, and listened to the weirdness unfold.

"Like a stakeout style thing?" Helena was saying chirpily.

"If you want it to be," sighed Christian.

"Ooh, you know what we should do? Wear trench coats."

"In this weather?! The only good part of that plan is that we'd collapse from heatstroke outside the hospital."

"Ok, no trenchcoats then." Helena sounded a bit sulky about that.

There was a long pause. Then Christian said, "Sunglasses."

"What?"

"You can wear sunglasses. They're suitable watching wear."

"Good idea! And we should totally give the whole thing a cool name – like _Rough Rider_ or _Ranch Hand_. You know the way they always do that."

"Well, they're both kinda taken."

"I know that. But something like it. Like..."

"Don't hurt yourself."

"Chrissy!" Something was thrown across the room. "Ow! You aren't meant to hit girls!"

"I take my equal rights very seriously." Christian clicked his tongue in an impatient way Jack knew all too well. "Look, we should probably head off."

There was a rustling noise as Helena grabbed something. "All right! Operation _Boyfriend-Catcher_ is a go!"

"Oh, lord..."

"What? You have a better idea feel free to speak up."

"Whatever, Helena. Go."

Jack snapped his eyes open and glared at them. Helena was half out the door, and Christian was checking his phone. "Where are you going?"

"Oh!" Helena started guiltily, but Christian placed a hand on her back and gave her a firm shove out the door.

"Lunch," said the Bostonian cheerfully, looking as innocent as a man could after pushing someone out a doorway. "We've waited all morning for you to haul your lazy ass out of nap time and we're hungry. Call for the nurse if you're lonely. She likes you."

"I can't have a conversation with a woman who gives me sponge baths!" wailed Jack. But Christian just smirked and ambled out.

Jack made a note to injure the man later.

* * *

Christian's talents had always lain towards the blowing the shit out of things rather than the subtle lying in wait for people. He preferred to be able to have the encounters on his terms rather than anyone else's. But sometimes that didn't work, and that was when he broke out the camouflage paint. Metaphorically, of course.

It was a pity Helena didn't appear to know what the bloody word meant. She was yammering on about darkened corners and tactics and how to paralyse a person without actually doing them any harm.

"Listen!" Christian finally broke his silence when they reached the hospital foyer, spinning around and grabbing her shoulders. "We are not skulking about in the shadows. We do not have any tactics bar watching the target. And we are really not going to paralyse the man so we can kidnap him. Understand?"

She pouted, but nodded as she shrugged his hands away. "All right, all right. What are we doing then?"

"Just making sure Mr. Del Mar turns up."

"Can't we do that up in Jack's room?"

"The man's terrified of anyone finding out. If we're up there, he'll run."

Helena snorted in frustration. "So we mope about down here and make sure he shows. That's it?"

"If he does arrive we make sure nothing gets in the way of Jack giving him a good chewing out," said Christian, feeling mildly more cheerful at that idea.

"Ok." Helena surveyed the foyer with a sceptical look, and frowned. "This place is too small for both of us to skulk around here. He'd notice us immediately."

"Someone will have to sit in their car," agreed Christian.

Helena stayed silent.

"I suspect that someone will be me," sighed the man. "I really wouldn't expect anything else."

"Yup," grinned Helena cheekily, "You wouldn't catch me sitting out in my car and roasting to death when I can be in the nice, cool, air-conditioned hospital." She patted Christian's arm companionably. "I'll call you every fifteen minutes to make sure you haven't collapsed from heat-stroke. Off you go."

* * *

It took five goes past the turning for the hospital for Ennis to pick up the courage to actually go in.

When he did manage it, he was so nervous and jumpy he almost crashed his Merc into a big Cadillac while he was parking. He took that as a hint and sat very still in his seat for a few minutes, staring into nothing and trying to calm himself down.

It worked long enough to get him to the hospital reception, where the man on desk duty directed him to the elevator, and the carried him as far as the row of chairs outside Room 142.

There he sort of gave up and slumped down onto the hard plastic. He didn't know how Jack would react, or what the hell he himself was going to say. He braced his head in his hands and groaned. This wasn't going well.

"Excuse me, sir? Are you all right?" A pleasant-face nurse had appeared, apparently from nowhere. Ennis sat up straighter and nodded sharply.

"Yeah. Just gettin' up the guts to go see my buddy."

"Is he hurt badly?" The nurse seemed genuinely concerned – something Ennis wasn't honestly used to. People who didn't give a damn were the norm in his life. People who cared were few and far between and he'd never got into the way of dealing with them. He squinted at her name tag: if she was going to be nice, he could at least counter it with some vague charm – Tiziana was all he was able to read before she sat down beside him.

"Nah. We had an argument before he got hurt, and I don't know how he's gonna act when I get in there." He struck out blindly with the vaguely honest approach.

"He's on this floor?"

"Yeah."

"Well, this is my floor," said Nurse Tiziana, "And all my patients are nice people. Whoever it is, they're bound to appreciate a visit."

Ennis looked towards the door of Room 142. Hell, she was probably right. But still...

"Is that who you want to see?" Her voice broke into his thoughts. "Jack?"

"Er...Yeah."

To his surprise, she burst into peals of laughter. "I can't imagine why you're scared then. Get on in there! Jack's about the sweetest person you could ever hope to meet." She prodded his shoulder gently. "Anyway the worst thing he could do to you at the moment is leave you with the overwhelming sense you've just kicked a puppy."

He sighed. Tiziana rolled her eyes and hopped back to her feet.

"Look, go in there. Talk to him. Explain, apologise, compromise, whatever. Get it done and you'll feel better." She smiled, turned on her heel and hurried down the corridor. Ennis took a deep breath, pulled himself to his feet and went in to see Jack.

* * *

It was strange when you considered it, but Jack had never actually read a copy of the _Bylow Reporter_. Not properly anyway. Most of the time he was kept up to date by the constant chatter and flow of information through the office and the only reason he ever read any part of it was to read the Columns section. His colleagues were almost talented writers, but they all kept their columns very secret until they were actually published. Jack never understood why, but he went along with it anyway. He'd find out eventually after all.

He'd persuaded Nurse Tiziana to find him a Sunday edition of the _Reporter, _and was leafing through it when the door opened and someone trudged across to flop into the chair nearest the bed. Jack didn't look away from the paper – he expected it was Christian suffering from a sudden attack of guilty conscience and coming back to keep him company.

"I knew I could guilt you into comin' back," he said cheerfully.

There was silence. A long silence. Then a voice that was too rough and low to ever be mistaken for Christian's said, "Yeah. Guess you're right."

Jack froze. "Not Christian then? Right."

"No." Ennis sounded a bit bemused. "Just lil ol' me."

"There weren't nothin lil bout you," muttered Jack under his breath, lowering the paper a few centimetres to see Ennis flush crimson. "You're here."

"Guess I am."

"Why?"Jack dropped the Reporter, fiddling with the sheets in a way that betrayed his confident voice.

Ennis stopped for a few seconds, trying to get the words lined up – your friend threatened me, I missed you, I couldn't not make sure you were all right, I really missed you, my daughter thinks gay men are 'sweet', _I really, fucking, no holds-barred missed you_. "Wanted to make sure you were ok," he settled for lamely.

Jack arched a brow and said, "Sure thing."

"What? Can't a friend check up on another friend?" Ennis winced when Jack frowned.

"Friends," he said dully, "Well, that's all well and good, but that ain't for me. Not with you anyway."

"But my..."

"Ennis!" snapped Jack. "I know at least 50 gay men and women in this town. That's business enough for you, never mind that fact that the population of Bylow ain't as stuck in the Middle Ages as you think. Just 'cause you're gay ain't gonna stop the worthwhile people comin to you. And any judge who takes away your time with your kids cause you've got a boyfriend is a mean-hearted sonovafuckinbitch who shouldn't be allowed within twenty kilometres of a seat of authority. I'll be quiet about us, if you want. I won't parade us about or holler about our relationship. But I won't keep it a secret, Ennis, 'cause that nearly killed me once!"

Ennis stared at the injured man.

"What?!" barked Jack, still feeling a bit snarly with the world.

"I didn't know that many words ever existed," Ennis chuckled. His hand settled gingerly on one of Jack's where it rested on the sheets. "But you and your tongue certainly have a way with them, whether they're real or not."

"My tongue is very skilled," smirked Jack, the air now cleared of tension. "You _know_ this."

"Don't I ever."

* * *

Ennis left only when Nurse Tiziana turned up to throw him out and even then she had to stand in the door way for five minutes while the two men stuttered through their goodbyes.

He strolled out into the corridor, adjusting his shirt, and trying to act more like a confident, calm individual instead of a very self-conscious man who had been making out with his injured boyfriend for the past half-hour. The nurse padded after him, gave him a smile and an impressed look.

"You move things along fast, dontcha?"

He shrugged amiably and ambled off to the elevator.

While the hospital had never been really busy during the day, it was certainly very quiet now. There was only the receptionist in the foyer, and, when Ennis stepped outside into the chilly evening air, only one person lurking around the front of the building. There was the dim glow of a lit cigarette from the region of the figure's face, but it was too dark for Ennis to make out their features.

As he walked past the person, however, he was gifted a stream of smoke, blown directly in his face.

He span angrily, grabbing the figure's collar and heaving them against a wall. The person landed directly under one of the lights and Ennis swore. It was Christian, smiling darkly around his cigarette.

"Everything sorted then?" The Bostonian's voice was sickly sweet.

"Yeah, it's fine," snarled Ennis, stalking off to find his car. He could hear the swift snap of footsteps behind him as Christian followed.

"Nice to know. Is it going to stay this way?"

"I'd like to think so." In fact Ennis hadn't given it a bit of thought.

"So would I, Mr. Del Mar, because hit men are always such horrible people. I hate hiring them, I really do."

Ennis spotted the Merc finally and stopped dead in his tracks. "You're threatenin' me again, ain't you? It's gettin ol', fast, Mr. Lachlan."

"That was not a threat, Mr. Del Mar." Christian moved too swiftly for Ennis to track him in the low light and without any warning the mechanic was staring at the smouldering end of the cigarette. Every time the other man took a breath it glowed a little brighter, the little spot of red bursting into yellows and oranges. "That was in fact a... prophesy. A promise."

"I'm terrified."

"See, here's the thing. You're not. Blind man on a galloping horse could see that." Christian leaned in a little bit more. "But you really should be. I've done some horrible things in my time, Mr. Del Mar. Having you killed for hurting my friend will not be the worst. Be warned."

"Yeah. Ok." Ennis pushed past the man, took a few steps and stopped. "Mr. Lachlan?"

Christian hadn't moved. "Yes?"

Ennis turned and walked back. He stopped right in front of the Bostonian and smiled. "Stop threatenin' me."

The punch was good, textbook almost. And even if Christian could have spotted the telltale stance shifts in the darkness he wouldn't have had the time to dodge. As it was, the blow was hard enough to knock Christian flat onto the blacktop and leave him there while Ennis got into his Merc and drove away.

Absently, as he turned onto the main road, the mechanic wondered if maybe he shouldn't have left the man sprawled out in a car park at night. He had felt a distinct crunch of breaking bone, after all. But he kept on driving anyway, because, honestly? The man was a bastard. And Ennis had kinda always wanted to do that.

* * *

Wednesday came much too slowly for Jack. Ever since they had started noticeably reducing his painkiller intake, he had been dying to go home and curl up into his own bed.

When it did finally arrive he flirted his way shamelessly around the nurses' station, giving Nurse Tiziana the biggest bouquet he could buy from the hospital shop. That done, he limped his way to the elevator and then the foyer, where he was able to half-collapse into a chair and whimper quietly about his throbbing ribs. He was out of practice with the whole moving with broken bones thing. Before he quit bull-riding, he'd done it all the time.

"Hey, rodeo. Need a ride?" Ennis's gravelly voice interrupted Jack's mental tallying of previous injuries.

The columnist got up awkwardly, handing his bag over to Ennis. "Thought Christian was meant to be pickin me up."

"Yeah, well, he called me and tol' me to come instead. Said he couldn't drive anywhere, cause his eyes have swollen shut." Ennis struggled not to feel smug at that.

"You wouldn't happen to know anythin' about that, would you?" asked Jack pleasantly. Ennis knew the tone was misleading – he wasn't admitting to anything. "He just turned up yesterday with a couple of black eyes, a broken nose and bruises all across his face. Didn't tell me how they got there at all."

"Tol' me he had an accident with a door," said Ennis blandly, as they reached his car. "Don't see why the man would lie."

Jack gave him a careful look and then sighed, getting into the Merc gingerly. "When d'you get the swanky car?"

"It was a gift."

"From Christian? Cause this was his." Jack resumed the stare. "How long have you two been best buds then?"

Ennis nearly drove the car into oncoming traffic. Yeah, best buds with Christian Lachlan. That was likely. Hah! "We're just acquaintances. Dunno why he gave me the car. S'pose he just felt like a change of wheels."

Jack gave him another suspicious look. "The pair of you are up to somethin."

"Whatever you wanna believe, rodeo."

When the car drew up outside Jack's house, it was late in the afternoon and the sun was low over the roofs of the surrounding buildings. Jack struggled his way out of the Merc with a fair amount of swear words and flailing and limped halfway to the door before he realised that he was alone.

Ennis was still sitting in the car. Jack watched him for a good five minutes before realising that, no, the man was not going to move without a swift kick up the ass. He groaned, partially from frustration about picking the closet case for a lover and partially because several of his ribs were doing remarkable impressions of knives, and lurched back to the car.

He hadn't even opened his mouth when Ennis blurted out, "Mebbe we should keep things slow this time."

"Mebbe we should go jump off a cliff." Jack draped himself across the open door as best as he could and fixed the mechanic with a disbelieving look. "What are you talkin about now?"

"Goin' slightly slower than we did before. That didn't get us nowhere."

Jack closed his eyes and tilted his face to the sky, silently begging anyone who could hear for patience. "Sure it ain't cause you want a loop hole? Someway to get out if you can't take it no more?" He was being harsh, yes, but he was tired, in pain and he'd just had enough of this crap. "Technically we've been on and off for about five months now. I won't waste any more time on this if you ain't stickin' with me."

Ennis didn't look at the columnist, preferring to stare out of the windscreen in blind panic.

"En?" Jack sighed and reached out, poking the man on the shoulder. "Here's the thing. I've played too many games already. I'm done with that." He fumbled in his pocket for his wallet and brought out his spare key. "This here's the key to my house. You take it and do whatever the hell you want for the rest of the day. If you come in before midnight I reckon we can make it work. If you don't, well..." He laughed humourlessly. "I'll give up and move on. And I'll expect this key back." He dropped it onto the passenger's seat and slammed the door shut.

He wasn't even on the front step before he heard the Merc rumble off.

* * *

The inside of the house was dusty and close after his long absence, and he spent a few minutes struggling to open the windows without injuring his ribs further. That done, he prowled around the kitchen, hunting down various items of food and drink that had gone off.

While he was wrangling a large blue and green lump of cheese off the inside of his fridge and into the bin, the phone rang. He left the cheese to its own devices and went to pick up.

"Jack! You got home all right?" It was Helena, ever cheerful.

"Yeah, I got a lift fine," said Jack quietly.

"Jack?" Slightly less cheerful now – more along the lines of concerned.

"What?!" he snapped.

"Are you sure you're ok? D'you want me to come round?"

"No! Just... No, ok?" He pressed his free hand over his eyes; the first symptoms of what could only be one hell of a migraine were starting to bubble up in his sinuses.

"If you say so," muttered Helena, "Look, if you won't talk to me about it, call Christian at least. There's no talking to you when you're in this kind of mood, so I'm going to give up right now."

"When I'm in this kind of mood?! What the hell d'you mean by that?"

"Exactly what I said, Jack," said the artist cheerfully, "I've had better conversations with _Randall_ than you when you're pissy."

"Why don't you hang up right now and I can pretend you never compared me to Randall, all right?"

Helena snickered at his aggrieved tone. "Don't worry, honey, you're a lot prettier. See you later."

"Yeah. Sure." Jack set the phone down with a clunk. Even thinking of Randall made his skin crawl. It certainly didn't help with the impending headache.

He went back to corral the remains of the cheese into the bin and as soon as he finished scrubbing mould off the refrigerator, the phone rang once more. Grumbling, he stalked back to pick it up.

"Helena says you're miserable and I'm to fix it." Christian's voice was somewhat less suave than usual – it sounded as though he had an awful cold. "Why are you miserable?"

"Guess."

"_Jesus_. Fuck it, give me five minutes – I know I have some Mafia contacts written down somewhere around here."

"Christian, no orderin' hits on anyone! Anyway, he's got 'til midnight."

"And you think he's going to come through on that, do you?" Christian snorted and then groaned in pain. "Ow. Son of a bitch."

"I think you just want to get him back for punchin' you. Am I right?" Jack smirked when his question was answered with silence. That would be a yes then. "Just leave it. I can cope just fine without you avengin' me left, right and centre."

"Oh, if you insist." The man didn't even try to hide the rather childish disappointment in his tone. There was a crash from his end of the phone and Jack made a face at the sound of an annoyed teenager venting her wrath on the nearest adult. The screaming went on for quite a while, until Christian bellowed something and the girl fell silent. Jack waited for almost five minutes until something crashed again and Christian sighed. "You know that horrible feeling you get when your child hates you?"

"What you do?"

"Transferred her to the school here. She was under the impression she'd be staying out of school and surviving on my money for the rest of her life instead of working."

"What, like me and all my potential boyfriends?"

There was a pause. "Fair enough. Are you less miserable now? Only, Meggie's found a set of golf clubs and that cannot end well."

"Go, quickly. Save the windows."

"Less the windows, more my own battered skull."

Jack rolled his eyes. "See ya."

"Yes. Listen, if I can persuade her to calm down, I'll drop round with alcohol."

"I love you," smiled Jack.

"That's the reason you don't have many straight male friends." He hung up, and Jack simply dropped the phone to the floor this time. He didn't really care anymore. Fuck being tidy. He was going to bed.

* * *

He'd got so damn far and now he was right back where he started! Damn it! This wasn't fucking fair! Couldn't life just take a hint and back off already? Ennis gripped the wheel so hard his knuckles ached and resisted the overpowering urge to punch something, because this just sucked. Now he had to make a choice – and he had to do it urgently. In fact, within the next 100 metres, because once he turned to go home he knew he wouldn't ever turn back again.

75 metres. He was already tapping the brake, letting the car coast. Jesus, _he_ _couldn't do this_!

50 metres. Come on, come on, couldn't there be an easy way out?

25 metres. Oh god, he was going to have to do this...

10 metres. There wasn't enough time for him to do this!

Ennis reached the junction that would either lead him back to Jack's house or to his own home. He stopped the Merc and stared out the windscreen for a long, long time.

"Aw, hell. Fuck it," he said and hauled the steering wheel hard one way.

* * *

Jack had snuggled down in a pair of old sweatpants and his favourite old lounging t-shirt, cocooned nicely under his sheets. The air-conditioner was rattling away to itself happily and the air in his room was barely tolerable it was so cold.

He was drifting in a haze of prescription drugs, right on the edge of sleep, when he heard the front door creak open and click shut. Absently he supposed Christian must have come, bearing whisky or something of the sort, but he couldn't have been bothered to get out into the cool air when he was nice and cosy.

After a few minutes, though, the bedroom door opened, the sheets were lifted and a warm, solid weight curled up against Jack's back.

"You always wear these things in bed?" rumbled Ennis, plucking at the tatty sweatpants.

"My air-con thinks it's fun to over-achieve. I get cold here on my own."

"Well, then –"Ennis's hands slipped up under the t-shirt, "You won't be needin' them anymore, will you?"


End file.
